Wildflowers
by MaySoFarAway
Summary: An old fic of mine that I wanted to post for fun. My take on the life of the enigmatic Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, her journey from a child, to a warrior, to the Queen of Rohan. Book based, slightly AU.
1. Default Chapter

Authors' Notes: I began this story January '03, and finished it that December, and while it may not be the great fic ever written, the readers I had on the diary site it was posted on very much enjoyed it, and I made some great friends through it! I believe my writing has improved greatly since then, but I still love this "child" of mine, spelling, grammar, slight canon issues and all, lol. Because it marks one of the first times when I let myself be totally lost in a story, lost in words and characters and just writing like there was no tomorrow...

This stoy is almost entirely book based, regarding any scenes from the canon. For 12 months, a copy of ROTK rested by my computer, obsessively thumbed through late into the night...ahem, anyway.

I own nothing from the canon, if I did, this would be between to covers regardless of whether or not it was awful, hehehe, I'd have the money for such self indulgence....but I don't....so I don't =P  
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Wildflowers

By May  
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"You belong somewhere you feel free..."  
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"In the last year of the Third Age, Eomer wedded Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil..."

The Lord Of The Rings: Return Of The King  
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3011 of the Third Age

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The wind was strong that day. A little colder then usual as well, but the girl-child of ten years old didn't mind. She just stubbornly pushed her dark hair out of her face, scampering about in the melting snow, trying to find what flowers had bravely pushed forth their petals. On any other day, Lothiriel wouldn't have bothered the flowers, content to let them grow and multiply. But today was different. Today was her mother's birthday, and today she wanted to bring her flowers.

After a while, she eyed the bunch in her hands. They weren't much, but her mother would like them. After the winter they'd had, she was lucky to have found so many. Expertly, for she had been at it since she could walk, Lothiriel hurried down the rocky path she had come up by. The farm she had grown up on was a small one, tucked into the high mountains that bordered Rohan, and she had known no other home before it. It was her whole world...for the time being.

Hurrying into the well-kept farmyard, she stopped to pet the nose of a little white pony that was sniffing about for new spring grass. "Not long, little one." She smiled, "Not long, and it will be green again." Then she made her way around to the back of the small stone cottage, where it seemed somehow warmer, somehow sweeter.

She dropped to her knees before a small headstone; a thistle flower carved upon it the only markings. "Happy Birthday mother." Lothiriel said quite naturally, setting the flowers down. "It is a beautiful day. Best we've had this year in fact!" She brushed at her messy hair, as though her mother's blue eyes were upon her. "Edemer is growing quickly. He's nearly taller then Da! He looks a lot like Da..."

Lothiriel's eyes grew misty. "Da...Mama, I'm worried about Da. He is so pale lately. He can't move as quickly as he once could...but don't worry Mama, I'll take good care of him. I promise." She looked up when she heard hooves in the front yard. "I must go make dinner for Da and Edemer now Mama." Lothiriel kissed her fingers, and pressed them to the thistle flower. Then she rose, brushing her cotton skirts and running through the back door to make dinner....

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Lothiriel did not have many memories of her mother, most of what she knew was told to her by her elder brother, Edemer, who'd been nine the six years before, when Lethemine died. She had not looked much like their father, short, wispy and dark-haired, he tall and strong with flowing golden locks, which were now starting to be touched with grey. Yes, Eodier was much older then Lethemine had been, 18 years in fact. It had been a sad surprise when she had passed first, while carrying a third little child who also did not live.

What Lothiriel had found in the memory of her mother was that they had both cared for her father and brother; they had both been the women of this farm. It made them close, even if she barely remembered her.

Now the dark was beginning to come along when her father and Edemer came in from tending the evening work. Lothiriel was just dishing hot stew into their bowls, and Eodier rested a work-worn hand on her dark head before moving to wash his hands, Edemer following his lead. Lothiriel set a loaf of bread on the table, and waited for her father and brother to take their seats.

Eodier took his time washing his hands; it seemed to his daughter that he had been so slow to doing things as of late. She met the eyes of her brother. She could tell he worried as well. But neither spoke of it. Eodier took his place at the head of the table, and they sat.

"The bread tastes well, Lothiriel." He said after they had blessed the meal, dunking a slice in his stew. He knew what that meant to her, as the loaf had most likely been made with the last scrapings from the wheat sack. Lothiriel smiled. "Soon we will have more wheat, right father?"

Eodier was quite for a moment. "It must be fine and warm in the plains right about now. The grass good and green...you children have never been far off the mountains have you? No, no you have not..." He seemed to be thinking aloud, swallowing his meal while his children did the same, listening silently and wondering what he was thinking of with his words. "The sea...the sea is a place I have not seen in years. It would do you children well to see the sea." He smiled at them. "Maybe, this summer we shall go there."

"Could we really spare to leave the farm, father?" Edemer asked then, taking a gulp of water. Eodier was silent again. "We may yet Edemer, that we may." He smiled then. "Ah you poor children, trapped with a rambling old man for a father. I trust you wished your mother a happy birthday Lothiriel?" She nodded. "Aye good. She would have been 34 today." His eyes seemed cloudy for a moment. "My Lethemine." His smile returned. "I thing you're growing to look like her, Lothy. Sure enough you can cook like her!"

This brought a giggle to Lothiriel. The rest of the meal was cozy and warm, like it was most any other night.  
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Then came the cleaning up and dressing for bed. Lothiriel, from her bed that was quickly getting too short for her, watched her father sit by the fire, smoking his pipe. He did not gaze at the flames in his usual, relaxing manner. He seemed troubled by something. Suddenly he looked up, to see her watching him.

"Can't sleep Lothy?" He asked, smiling. She just blinked from under her quilts. "Father, are you all right?" Eodier's smile turned sad, and he came to his daughter's bed and lay a kiss on her forehead.

"I haven't been feeling my best, my girl." He admitted in a whisper. "But I meant what I said, we will go to see the sea, very soon." Lothy's eyes were suddenly bright.

"Really?!" She breathed. Eodier nodded. "Very soon, I promise. Now sleep, another day of work awaits us."

Lothiriel hugged her father, smelling tobacco and leathers and the outside, a comforting smell, a smell that meant her father. That meant home. That meant Love. Then she turned to her pillows, and Eodier slowly made his way to his bed, wincing as he did so. Yes, they must make for the sea very soon. Or it might be too late...

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At the rising of the sun, Lothiriel was up and getting breakfast to her men, and then Eodier and Edemer were out to the plow the few fields. Up in the mountain where they lived, there were few places to grow things, but then they did not need much for their little family. Despite the rocks and wind Eodier kept their farm growing every year.

Lothiriel began her daily work of making the beds and sweeping the hard packed dirt floor. Today she would also wash their clothes, and mend as needed. The sun was climbing in the sky, melting the snow in all but the most shadowy places. Lothiriel hauled out the wash water, not an easy task for someone her size. But she was hardy for her age, and rarely complained over something she'd grown so used to doing as laundry.

Only one tree grew in the uneven yard, and from it she hung the wash line to the house and began hanging wet tunics and shirts and skirts to dry. When that was done, she settled on the tree's exposed roots to mend some of Edemer's leathers, which really would need replacing soon. As she mended she thought about things, many of which most girls her age didn't bother to think on yet. She wondered how to get Edemer new riding leathers, how to make the wheat last a few weeks more, and what was ailing her father.

It had been a few years since Lothiriel had thought on things such as play and idle hands. As soon as she was strong enough, Eodier really had had no choice but to teach her housework. They needed to eat, he needed to be in the fields, and Lothiriel had not complained when Edemer had left her alone to help their father work. She had been 7 years old then. 7 years old, and baking bread and sweeping floors, Eodier checking in on her now and then. Now she was as capable as any housewife in Rohan, and she was proud of that.  
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The lunch hour was coming on, and she hurried inside to get bread on the table. As an after thought, she set out butter as well for a treat. They saved it these days; the cow was slowly going dry. But today was so warm and bright; it seemed a good day for a treat.

Eodier and Edemer came in and Lothy nodded to the table, juggling the basket of mended clothes on her small hip. "There, and it's been keeping nice and fresh too!" She set the basket in the corner. "Edemer, you'll be needed a new set of riding leathers soon...I'm not sure I can keep them mended."

"We'll get a new pair in Dol Amroth." Eodier smiled, eating his lunch, though he winced and absently rubbed at his arm, "When we go there next week." Lothiriel clapped her hands. "Oh will we really?! Oh my, Edemer, we're going to the sea!" Edemer looked a bit bewildered, but Eodier just rose from the table, wiping his mouth. "Yes children, yes, but we must keep at our work now. We'll talk of this later." Edemer finished his lunch and hurried out the door after his father.  
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Lothiriel went to the wash line, happy to find the laundry dry and fluttering in the mountain wind. Taking each thing down and folding it neatly in her basket took time, but she valued having things nice and crisp for her father and brother. It was mid afternoon when she finished, and as she carried her basket in, the sun slipped behind gathering clouds. A sudden gust of cold wind surprised her, tossing her hair in her face. She turned away from it, looking to the path that led into the hills. She heard a horse cry, a familiar one at that. She squinted, looking up the rocky hills toward the field. Barely she could make out a rider coming swiftly toward the farm, and before long she realized that it was Edemer, and something before him. The basket of clean laundry hit the dirt.

"DA!" Her scream echoed on the rocky hills...

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The great brown workhorse was foaming and spent when Edemer finally got to the farmyard, and Lothiriel was white as a sheet. Though 15 years old, Edemer shouldered the weight of their big strong father, who was now looking as if death had taken him. His breathing assured them otherwise.

"He...he just fell over in the field, grasping at his chest." Edemer breathed, pulling Eodier into the house and to his bed. "He couldn't breathe, I...I didn't know what to do." He wiped the sweat from his brow as he lay his father down, and Lothiriel nearly slapped herself for the tears that were coming.

"I'll boil water...and get out the herbs..." She did the only thing she knew to do, and then hurried to her father's side. He felt fevered, his breathing was shallow, and it smelled as if he had lost his noon meal in the field. "I do not know what is wrong...he seemed fine at lunch!"

"Maybe it is as he said Grandfather di..." He stopped himself, "Maybe his heart went out, as with his father." Lothiriel trembled, but went back to the hot water and made up a cup of strong smelling tea from roots and herbs. Her father had often given them such when they became ill, perhaps it would work here. She drew the bed table close to his side and set the tea by his face, letting the vapors reach him. His breathing became steadier, the vapor clearing his lungs and settling his stomach. But he did not awake.  
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For hours, Edemer and Lothiriel sat at their father's bedside, watching for any sign of awakening. Night came on, and, exhausted, Edemer fell asleep. Lothiriel numbly remembered the horse then, and went outside to see him. She put the poor beast back in their tiny barn, though he looked as if he'd rather just die at that point. The old workhorse hadn't run like that in years, and then never with both her father and brother.

She went back to the house, and at her closing of the door Eodier stirred. She was at his side in a moment, as his eyes blearily fluttered open. "Lothy?"

"Yes, da, I'm here." She said, her voice quivering. He reached up weakly, almost painfully, to touch her hair.

"You got this from her you know...you go there, they'll know you right away. Might not know Edemer, looks too much like me...but you..." He sighed, slowing his breathing.

"Da, what do you...?" Her voice seemed so small to her. Eodier opened his eyes again, as if forcing himself to stay lucid.

"Lothy...you must go to Dol Amroth with your brother. Do you understand?"

She shook her head. "But, you're sick, we can't..."

"You MUST go, Lothy!" He coughed, settled back in his pillows, again steadying his breath. "I don't want to scare you Lothy, but, you have to be stronger then you've ever been before. Can you do that?" A tear slipped down her little face, but she nodded. "All right now...Lothy, your mother...your mother was a princess." At her wide eyes, Eodier nodded slightly. "Yes my child, she was, a beautiful princess from the sea. Do you know how she came here?" Another pause for labored breath, "She loved me, Lothy. She loved me enough to come into these mountains and never see the sea again." Lothiriel gulped, and he went on. "When you are in Dol Amroth Lothy, speak her name, and you will be welcomed. You will be a princess Lothy!" Another cough, and Lothiriel put her hands on his chest.

"I don't want to leave you..." But he stopped her. "Lothy you won't be leaving me." He looked right into her grey-blue eyes, wet with unshed tears. "And I will never leave you." Slowly, she understood. She nodded, but the tears came. They came unchecked, and she wept at her father's bedside. He rested his hands in her hair, tears in his own eyes.

"I love you Lothy..."  
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	2. Out Of The Shadows

When Lothiriel woke up, she was in her own bed. At the light coming in through the windows, her first observation on the day was that it was well past sunrise. It had been many years since she had slept so long. Then her eyes quickly flew to her father's bed. Slowly she rose, looking at Edemer. Her brother was awake, and looking out the open window with glassy eyes, not seeing the first spring bird landing on the sill.

She looked at Eodier. He looked peaceful...still. She swallowed, but no tears were forming. She had known. He had told her. And she would do as he said. She would be strong.

"He passed this morning." Edemer said, shutting his eyes. Lothiriel nodded, stepping to touch her fathers' crossed hands. "He said we were to make for Dol Amroth, Lothy." She looked up.

"Was that all he said?"

"He...he also said for me to take care of you." Edemer managed a small smile. "As if I needed telling. But I promised. And then...he fell asleep again." The boy wiped his eyes. Lothiriel held her brother's hand. She would not tell him of what Eodier had said to her. She did not know why, but she wanted to hold it to herself for a time. "There isn't much more we can do, is there?" She whispered. "But leave."

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The next morning, there was a fresh mound in back of the small, faithful farmhouse. There was still only one headstone, but Edemer had moved it a bit, and now there were two thistle flowers twined about each other. And fresh flowers at it's foot.

The workhorse was still tired but they had no choice but to pack him with their few belongings, Edemer riding him with Lothiriel behind him. She watched the farmyard slip away from them in the dim morning light, the other animals set loose to their own fates. And her parent's grave. "Goodbye Mamma, goodbye Da." She whispered, then turned to look on the road, at what was to come, not what was behind. Plans were forgotten; summer and harvest would not come. But though their world had been rocked and all but shattered, they had to be brave and strong. They had promised their father they would be.

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The next day the sun rose over the mountains, and the two children awoke further from their home then they had ever been. But they both shook the feeling from them, trying to embrace the newness. "How long shall we travel?" Lothiriel asked softly, "And do we know the way?"

Edemer took her hand to help her mount the horse, and then urged the beast forward. "Da once said this path led all the way down the mountain, to a small river called Ciril. And if a man were to keep going southwest, even when the river turned away and left you, it would take you right into Dol Amroth." The horse picked up the pace, as if it felt them starting to go downhill. Lothiriel was comforted. Then she thought of something.

"So ... we will be in Gondor then." She bit her lip. Edemer had the spirits to laugh. "Yes, of course silly, that would be where Dol Amroth is." Lothiriel had the spirits to be mad.

"I knew that!" She snapped. "I just...did not realize it." But she fought the urge to look behind her, homeward. With a sigh, she accepted the fact that the mountains...and Rohan...were going to be left behind her for a good long while.

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After two days of steady travel on the mountain path, the land began to look greener, less rocky. Birds were singing above their heads, and the two couldn't help but feel their hearts lighten a bit. Lothiriel looked behind them, realizing the mountains had ended, and now they were entering gently rolling hills. It was warm here, and she packed away her long cloak. The path was a bit harder to follow here, years of growing things making it faint. But Eodier had taught his son well, and Edemer did not lose it.

That night they ate sparingly of Lothiriel's good bread, and were, for the first night of travel, able to talk of things. They spoke of when they were little, one of the few memories Lothiriel having of her mother was spring celebration day the year she died, when they sat out under the stars for the night. She remembered her mother's eyes like stars themselves, her smile big and loving. 'Of course she could be a princess...' Lothiriel thought, drifting to sleep. 'She was as good and kind as any of the stories tell...'

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The next day it was raining, and the going was slowed. But they kept on, until the path ran right to the banks of the Ciril. Lothiriel gazed at the swift water; it looked so new and alien to her. But Edemer acted as if he'd seen a river a hundred times, and led the horse alongside it, where the path seemed to fade away to nothing. Lothiriel didn't mind admitting that she was afraid then. It seemed so easy when one had a path to follow...

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The air was damp and the rain misty. Lothiriel soon had her cloak out again, warding off the wet and chill. She noticed the water seemed to be getting stronger as they went forward, and they had to keep climbing the banks to stay safe. "It's the snow thawing on the mountains, it flows to here." Edemer noted, and Lothiriel nodded. It was still odd to think of, the soft snowy winters becoming something so strong and a bit scary.

For another day or so, they traveled the same way, the river beside them becoming stronger and stronger. Lothiriel developed a sneeze due to the now constant damp weather. And then they saw the Ringlo.

Edemer froze. Lothiriel looked about, at the strong water flowing and mixing in a foaming white current. "It's pretty when the rivers come together like that Edemer! Now, which way do we go?" She sniffed.

Her brother however, was turning pale. "We're...supposed to cross the river." Lothiriel's eyes went wide. "We can't cross this Edemer!"

"I know!" He cried, shaking his head. "I'm such an idiot! I should have known better and crossed the day we met the Ciril!" He moaned, But Lothiriel kept looking about. "We can travel back a bit, do not worry. I remember a calmer place not far from here." Her soothing voice calmed her brother, who nodded.

And so they doubled back, this time they both scanned the banks. After an hour they came to the wide place Lothiriel remembered, where the water was still swift but not as deep. "See now, we can cross here just fine." She assured her brother, who nodded. She rolled up her skirts as Edemer urged the horse forward. The animal didn't seem very happy with the idea, but he complied, stepping slowly down the bank and into the cold water.

Lothiriel curled up her legs as the water rose, envying her brother's waterproof leather boots. She could feel the current pressing against them, but the horse was strong. Even at the halfway point, where the current was swiftest, it kept its feet. Lothiriel relaxed as they were nearly across...

And then the horse's hooves were suddenly pulled under.

They'd hit a hole filled with sand, and Lothiriel screamed as the current now knocked the horse over and she hit the water. Her first instinct was to swim. She'd swam before it mountain streams or ponds, but this was entirely different. But every bit of her shouted for her to swim, hard.

The minutes it took seemed like hours, but finally her hands grasped the exposed tree roots that lined the riverbanks. Hanging on, she looked around. "Edemer?!" She yelled. She looked downstream, to see the horse, it's rider tangled in it's tack, being swept away. A sound, something between a cry and a moan, escaped her lips as she clung to the bank.

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"There's no one out there...no one but me."  
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She forced herself up the riverbank, grasping at the dirt and roots. When she reached the grass of the other side of the river, she rested for only a moment. And then she was up and running, tears falling freely but she rubbed at them stubbornly with dirty hands. And ran.

Lothiriel stumbled along the tree-lined bank, tripping at ever other step. So many trees in one place. She struggled to keep up with the river's flow, but her brother had already disappeared. All she could do was follow.

Struggling and stumbling, dark was coming on, but Lothiriel kept going. The sky had cleared, and by moonlight she kept looking. And when she was just ready to give up, she heard a groan in the dark.

He was caught up in the roots of an overhanging tree, and it took all the strength that was left in her for Lothiriel to grab his arms and pull him up the bank. And then she fell over, exhausted.

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"You look like a muddy orc." She woke up to a raspy voice. Lothiriel opened her eyes, to see her brother looking at her, shivering and almost blue. His face was cut, his long hair was bloody, but he was alive. She gulped, sitting up.

"You're hurt..." She managed, touching his arms and legs. He winced. "Just bruised Lothy, I can manage."

"You're cold too." She trembled, but Edemer just shook his head. "It's all right, we have to move on. We...we lost our food, we need to find people before anything else..."

Lothiriel nodded. Edemer sat up painfully, looking about to get his sense of direction. "We're passed the place where the rivers met." Lothiriel told him, and he nodded. Then looked into the woods. "This way then." He slowly stood, Lothiriel taking his hand to steady him. "Lean on me Edemer." She told him, and he did so. But sparingly, he knew his little sister had already given too much of her strength.

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The trees thinned, and they came upon fair ground. Lothiriel was painfully reminded that her shoes had been near worn out in the mountains, but she did not complain. Edemer was far worse; she could feel him starting to catch fever. But they kept walking, one foot in front of another, their clothes drying in the spring air.

For two days, they walked on in the way Edemer said, while he grew weaker and weaker. But Lothiriel smelled something sweet in the air, something she had never felt before. Something that kept them moving, though they were faint with hunger. On the third night in the grass, while Edemer labored to breathe, she heard a sound to match the smell. A sweet crashing of waves echoing over the plain. And then, as she slipped into a half delirious sleep, she heard hooves coming their way.

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He rose to watch the sun rise over the ocean.

It had been on this day, at this time, that he had met her. Their mother had had her child too early, and the baby had come backwards, and so it was no wonder he was kept in the dark. Every day for over a week he asked if it was time to see his new sister, but every day his father had shook his head. They could not bother his mother. He was too young to see her so ill. But he had disobeyed them.

An 8-year-old Imrahil had crept out of his bed in the early morning, and into the sickroom of the palace to see his mother. She was sleeping by the window, her long dark hair framing her pale face. A little bundle was nestled into her arms, and he came near to see. At his footsteps, his mother's eyes had flown open, big and grey blue, like the ocean. She smiled. "Imrahil..." She whispered. "Come...see your little sister."

Slowly the little boy walked to her bed, and she opened her embrace a bit for him to look. His sister was a tiny baby, the tiniest he'd ever seen. He had other younger siblings, but none of them he could ever remember being so small. Or looking so much like a delicate doll..."Will she break if I touch her?" He whispered, with wide eyes. His mother smiled at his care. "No Imrahil...but take care."

Gently, he touched her tiny hand, and her eyes opened. But the little girl did not make a sound, looking at him with sparkling eyes exactly like his mother's. "Hello Lethemine..." He whispered, "I'm Imrahil...I'm your brother."

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Imrahil looked upon the sea now. That had been years before this very day, this very hour. He admitted that he had not thought of his sister Lethemine as much as he once had, but today he remembered much. Of how she had grown but always been rather frail, of how he had been so over protective of her...and how she had left him for another. He sighed as the sun began to climb in the sky, turning back to his chambers. But something caught his eye below.

Three of his border guards were riding up to the palace, two bearing children before them. The Prince squinted in the sunlight. "What tidings do you bring, my good men?" He called down to them. The dark haired rider who had the lead looked up, bowing his head for a moment. "My Lord, We found these children half starved within our borders, alone and ill."

"Hasten to bring them in then!" Imrahil called for a servant and made his way through the halls and stairs to the palace courtyard, where the men where carrying the children inside. One look at the boy, who was carried by two, told Imrahil right away that they had come from Rohan. But as the girl child was carried by, he was shaken. He stopped the guard, and bent to look into her white face, into her blankly staring eyes. Blue grey eyes.

"Get them inside, get them warm!" He cried, his servants hurrying to do as he asked. Imrahil stared after the girl, wondering if his eyes were betraying him...  
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	3. By The Sea

A Note on Imrahil and co., from The Encyclopedia Of Arda:

"Biographical information about Imrahil is quite limited in the canonical sources, and some of that shown here comes from _Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth_ and, especially, _The Peoples of Middle-earth_ (_The History of Middle-earth_ vol 12, I VII _The Line of Dol Amroth_). This represents a draft of the Appendices to _The Lord of the Rings_, and contains extensive information that did not appear in the published version.

The dates of Imrahil's birth and death, and the details of his three children Elphir (who himself became Prince of Dol Amroth), Elchirion and Amrothos are not mentioned outside this source. Although they are entirely consistent with the published texts, they cannot therefore be considered fully canonical.

The line of the Princes of Dol Amroth, though they were certainly Men, in fact claimed a measure of Elvish blood. It was claimed that the first Prince, Galador, was half-elven: his father was Imrazôr the Númenórean, but his mother was an Elf-maid, Mithrellas. Imrahil was Galador's direct descendant through twenty-one generations, and so could himself claim distant descent from Mithrellas.

Tolkien makes it clear that this was a tradition in Dol Amroth, and not necessarily a true story. According to the legend, Mithrellas was a companion of Nimrodel, who became lost in the woodlands of Belfalas, and was taken in by Imrazôr. As far as they go, these details match the established history of Nimrodel's journey. Unions of Elf and Man, though, are all but unheard of in Tolkien's universe, and are always of vital historical importance. The Princes' claims of Elven descent, while they are not certainly false, are difficult to accept without scepticism."  
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Basically, I only had my trilogy for the majority of the time I was writing this, so I was unaware of any of Imrahil's family besides his daughter (by canon) Lothiriel. This bit made me happy when I read it, however, and it also made future events possible...anyway; I thought it was very interesting :) Onward!  
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She opened her eyes slowly, in the time between sleep and wake wondering if it had all just been a long dream. Then she heard the calming beat of the waves outside, which had lulled her to sleep but a moment ago it seemed. At the feel of soft sheets and the feathery pillow under her head though, she was fully awake in an instant.

Lothiriel sat up, looking about. She was in a big room, almost as big as her entire house had been. One wall was open to the sunshine, large windows looking out over the sea. The sea! Lothiriel jumped from the great soft bed and hurried to one of the windows, the smooth stone floor feeling odd to her bare feet. She peaked out to see a balcony, and she carefully stepped onto it and looked out on the ocean for the very first time. So vast and sparkling in a thousand shades of blue and grey... Lothiriel had never seen anything so beautiful and scary at the same time, save maybe a river.

The river. Lothiriel shivered, suddenly remembering the river and Edemer and the fact that she didn't know where exactly she was. She looked at her clothes. Her farm dress gone, she was in a clean white nightdress, and she herself was washed and combed and clean. At the sound of a door opening, she turned.  
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A woman was there, with dark hair like hers. At the site of Lothiriel on the casement, she burst into a smile. "Well, it seems our young guest is in better health this fine morning then yesterday." Lothiriel smiled back shyly, nodding. "Good, good. Will you come here child?" Slowly, Lothiriel did as asked, coming to sit on the bed. The woman looked into her eyes and touched her forehead. "Yes, you seem to be fine."

Behind them, the door opened again, and this time a tall man entered, also smiling at seeing Lothiriel awake. The young woman at the girl's side smiled. "Imrahil, she seems to be perfectly well."

"Good, good." Imrahil stood at the foot of the bed, and Lothiriel just looked at him. His clothes were so fine and his hair so dark...so much different then her father and brother...but she felt very at ease with him, though he seemed so high and grand. He smiled slowly at her. "I am in Dol Amroth, aren't I?" She asked, and he nodded. Lothiriel let out a relieved sigh, falling against her pillows.

"And what is the name of the young girl who graces our fair land?" Imrahil asked of her, and Lothiriel froze for a moment, wondering if this was the person to tell of her heritage.

"I am Lothiriel, daughter of Eodier." She said simply, but it seemed to be enough. The woman who still sat by her side just looked at Imrahil, who grasped the bedpost.

"And your mother's name, child?" He asked softly. She bit her lip. "My mother was called Lethemine." Imrahil shut his eyes. "And where are your parents now?" he asked. Lothiriel swallowed back a tear or two. "My mother died in childbirth 6 years ago, and my father passed not a week before today. He...he told my brother and I that we were to go to the sea, and so we did." At this Imrahil nodded sadly. He looked at her then, at the little girl with eyes like the sea. And had to smile sadly.

"Lothiriel, I am Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. I am your uncle." Her eyes went wide.

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"Will he be well soon?" Lothiriel asked softly, dressed in new clothes and watching her brother sleep in his own room, fever still clinging to him. The Lady Deliann, her aunt who'd greeted her in the morning, took her hand. "Yes, he is very ill now, but have faith, he is being healed." Lothiriel touched his face.

"He took such good care of me on our road." She sighed, and Imrahil looked at her. "You are both strong children, my niece." He said to her, and she looked up at him. "Would it please you to know that Deliann and I are taking you into our house as our own? That you may dwell in these halls by the sea?"

Lothiriel smiled. "Yes, yes it pleases me." She nodded, and then looked back at Edemer. "I'm sure it will please him as well."

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She had been shown the seaside halls that morning, taking in the beauty with a wide and wondering eye. She had not imagined there could be anything quite so grand. Imrahil tried not to ask too much, but he did hint at a desire to hear of her life in the mountains. Looking through the rooms, Lothiriel spoke of how she had spent her days there, of her father and Edemer and what she remembered of her mother. A far off part of Imrahil was comforted. Lethemine had led a life blessed with love.

As much as the palace had held her, the sea enchanted her more still. She could stand at her balcony for ages gazing out at the water. That evening, after she had eaten dinner and visited Edemer, Lothiriel wrapped herself in a thickly woven blue shawl and kept looking at the waves, breathing deeply of the clean, warm breeze.

"What do you dream of when you look at it, My Lady?" Her handmaiden, who was putting new clothes for the girl away in her wardrobe, asked. "Everyone has something." Lothiriel smiled.

"My father once told me of where he grew up, in a place of rolling grasses as far as the eye could see." She said, "I've never seen anything like that, until today."

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The next morning, Lothiriel dressed in one of her new little gowns of pale blue. Almost every woman she had seen there wore blue; almost every new dress she had picked out was a different shade of the color. She liked it.

After breakfast in her rooms, she hurried to check on her brother, and was saddened to find him little changed. But she kept her faith that he would be fine.

And then she didn't know what to do. Her aunt and uncle were tending to their daily duties, and Lady Deliann had smiled when Lothiriel asked what she was to do. "Play Lothiriel! And later today you may go to the shore."

The seashore Lothiriel looked forward to. But she did wish she were doing something useful. She found herself wandering through the halls to the kitchens. Two young women were there, tending to various duties. One was just rolling up her sleeves when she saw Lothiriel. "Good morning, Princess!" She said, tilting her head a bit. Lothiriel smiled. "Is there anything I can get for you?" The girl shook her head.

"What are you doing?" She asked, and the women glanced at each other. "Well, today is our bread making day." She informed her. "You'll greatly enjoy our baking, I promise you."

"Oh, may I help?!" Lothiriel's eyes lit up, and the servant looked startled. "Oh Lady, you don't need to..."

"Please?" Lothiriel all but begged. "I want to feel helpful here...I made good bread too." The servant had to grin. "Well...all right deary. Come on up to the table then!"

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It was past the noon hour, and Lothiriel hurried from the kitchens toward her rooms, brushing flour from her arms as she went. She did not wish to be late for her walk to the shore. But on her way 'round a corner in the hall, she bumped into someone...

"What is your hurry, Lady?" He laughed, and Lothiriel looked up...a ways up. The young man looked much like her uncle. She smiled. "I am to walk on the shore today, for the first time!" He smiled back.

"You must be my cousin then." He bowed, a twinkle in his eye. "Well met, Lady Lothiriel. I am your cousin Imrahir." She giggled...then stopped, tilting her head. "A fair name. It sounds just like your father's." Imrahir shrugged.

"Yes, I believe we were both named after some long ago family hero. I think my name has some Elvish in it but I've never really thought of it."

Lothiriel laughed then. "Elvish? Elves aren't real, they're just in stories." At this Imrahir had to laugh as well. "Surprising how many of this land's young people think so! Lothiriel, just wait until you begin lessons. You will find that many legends are quite true." Her eyes went wide. But Imrahir just smiled secretively. "Now, as for the seashore...I think I will take you there myself! For there is only one way to travel across the dunes..."

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"Come, he can sit here." A handmaiden was saying, as the healer brought Edemer before the great open window in his room. He had awoken but a few hours before, right away determined to be moving around. The boy had never done well with lying still. And so they let him see the ocean, which he took in with wide blue eyes. He coughed a bit, but took a deep breath of the fresh air.

"I do not think his lungs will ever be as strong as they once were, that icy water could have easily done them in." The healer said softly to Imrahil, who stood watching. "Yet he is still young, they may heal better then I hope for. The sea air will be good for him." The Prince nodded, still eyeing the boy. He looked so much like Eodier, and would probably fill out to be just like him. The son of The Noble Soldier, here in his House.

"He is a strong boy." Imrahil stated. "He will overcome it."

"Is that Lothiriel?" Edemer was suddenly asking, looking below. A horse and rider were kicking up sand along the silvery dunes, and a girl's laughter was floating up to them. "Yes." Imrahil smiled. "She has been quite happy here. And I see she has met my son Imrahir." He looked back at Edemer. "He is about your age, a little older at 18. Easy to like. I can say for sure you two will get along as well." It was true, Imrahil thought; few could ever dislike one such as Imrahir.

"I'm sure I will." Edemer said, then gave a faint smile at hearing his little sister laugh again. "I haven't seen her so happy since she was a little thing. Thank you, Lord Imrahil."

"I would not dream of doing less, Lord Edemer." Imrahil smiled, bemused. Edemer flushed a bit, looking down. "No need for titles between us boy. We are family." Edemer looked up again, pushing wayward blonde hair from his face. Yes, family.

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The horse stopped running, and from her spot before Imrahir Lothiriel surveyed the land around her, from water to sand to pale green grasses. Then she looked towards the Halls, to see her brother sitting there, watching her. Her heart nearly sang with joy, and she waved up at him. Yes, all was good and right then. They were both safe and fine and loved there, and though in years to come her memory would often take her back to the high mountains that bordered Rohan, right then, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was happy.

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It was no use trying to walk outside; the wind was just too chilly. The sweet summer they'd had seemed so far away now, with November creeping along the land. It would be nowhere near as cold as it would've been in the mountains of course, but just the same, the outdoors just didn't have the same pull.

Lothiriel was cheered at the torches lit along the hallways, as she made her way toward the sporting hall, as the boys called it. She'd learned a while back that when in doubt or boredom, find her brother and cousin. Today, like any other, they would be at their swords.

Unlike other days however, her aunt had come to watch. Lothiriel smiled, sitting beside Deliann before the great fireplace. The boys would be most amusing, both vying for the Lady's approval. They danced back and forth on the polished stone floor. Edemer had taken quite easily to the sword, and after only 8 months his skill nearly matched his cousin.

Lothiriel watched their steps and moves closely, how they held their heavy swords expertly. And then with one sudden move Edemer had his sword to Imrahir's side. Edemer grinned. "I win." Imrahir faked a glare at him. Deliann laughed, clapping her hands, but Lothiriel bit her lip. There was a question on the tip of her tongue, one that had been there for a couple of months now...but one she never voiced. Now she heard herself speaking.

"May I learn too?" All eyes turned to rest on the ten-year-old girl. "Really, may I?"

Imrahir and Edemer looked at each other. "Come along now Lothy, I know you're a hardy lass but why would you want to learn to play with a blade?" Edemer asked her. None of them noticed the slow smile growing on Deliann's face. Lothiriel tried her best to voice her feelings. "Many girls my age have already had to learn!" She stated, "And, and, I grow so tired of just sitting and watching...I have my lessons in the mornings and nothing else to fill my time, save poking about the kitchens! What harm could it do?"

Again, the young men glanced at each other, wondering how to argue. It was Deliann who settled it. "I think it would be good for her." She said after a moment, the smile not leaving. "Every woman should grow to be confidant with a blade, in these troubled days. Lothiriel, you have my permission to learn." Lothiriel was so glad she had to throw her arms around her aunt. "And I expect you to be able to best Imrahir within 8 months as well!"

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"It is hard to think that when the winter ends they will have been here a year." Deliann noted that night, unbraiding her long hair and brushing it out. "It already feels as if...well as if they are my own."

Imrahil turned soft eyes on her. It was no secret that the Lady of Dol Amroth's womb had been empty since her only son. "Yes, I feel the same." He smiled. And then "And yet...well, tell me you do not see his eyes when you look at Edemer."

Deliann nodded, "Part of you is saddened at the same time part of you is proud when he is hailed as your own." Imrahil nodded. His wife had always been the first to note his feelings.

"He will do well by me, I know." His smile returned. "As will Lothiriel, so I understand?" Deliann laughed. "Yes, the girl is amazing. I look forward to what the years will bring."

"I as well." Imrahil's smile faded then. "At least...as far as our children are concerned." His eyes drifted out the eastern window. Deliann just looked at him, nodding slowly, wordlessly.  
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	4. The Lady Of Dol Amroth

Seven years later...  
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"The thundering sea  
Is calling me home  
Home to you..."

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A slim hand brushed through the long grass, feeling about for any flower that may be nearby. The wind was strong that day...a little colder then usual as well, but she didn't mind. Hardly did she even notice, in fact. Cool air by the ocean wasn't really that cold. Her sea-colored eyes looked up at the clear sky, then shut, to soak in the day. Suddenly, something pricked her fingers. Looking down, she smiled. A thistle. She added it to the growing bunch of wildflowers in her hand. And then her fair footsteps took her over the dunes and to the shore, just out of reach of the breaking waves.  
  
"Happy birthday, Mama." Lothiriel whispered, dropping the flowers slowly into the water. "The day is beautiful. Sunny. Fair." She looked around. "The April I have come to know and welcome. I hope you and Da are doing well." She smiled again, thinking over the past year. "Edemer is so handsome, you'd be so proud if you saw him! He is 22 now, and fancies himself quite the battle ready young man." He smile faded.  
  
"Battle...when first we came to live here the word seemed very far off, but it grows nearer I know. Uncle is often worried, letters being sent to him from Minas Tirith almost every week. The times are troubled, Mama." She sighed, "I pray that no hurt will come to my beloved brothers but I feel little assured." She tried not to let a tear fall.  
  
"But, happier thoughts there are to dwell on. Imrahir married the eldest daughter of the border guard captain last month, it was a fine celebration." She smiled again at the memory. "They have fancied each other since they were children, it made my heart light to see this good day finally come." Lothiriel's eyes were cloudy for a moment. "I...I know I am young yet, Mama, but so were you." She whispered. "I wish I held the heart of someone. I suppose every young woman does though, until she finally falls in love." She laughed. "Ah well. I suppose my time will come when it comes."  
  
"You'll be glad to know I can ride and spar with the best of Imrahil's men." She went on, grinning, her eyes sparkling, "Not that I'll need much of it I suppose, but it is rather nice..." She found herself glancing behind her, eastward. "But again, one never knows. Well, I must go now..." She shook her head, looking back to the flowers that were drifting away with the tides.  
  
"Give my best to Da, and I love you muchly Mama." She kissed her fingers, and blew it toward the sea. And then The Princess Lothiriel turned, back to the dunes, and back to the beautiful seaside halls...  
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Lothiriel brought an armful of flowers inside, to set on tables and by chairs and remind those who lived there that spring was in full bloom. Entering the library, she smiled to see her aunt, who stood looking out at the sea, and her uncle who was frowning at another letter in his hand. At the entrance of his niece however, Imrahil looked up and smiled.  
  
"I trust you wished my sister a fine day, on this the second of April?" He asked. Lothiriel nodded. "Yes, and she wishes a fine day back," her eyes drifted to Deliann, who touched her forehead, looking slightly faint.  
  
"Is all well this morning?" Lothiriel asked. Imrahil looked at Deliann, seeming to be slightly alarmed. "Yes, I believe I am just feeling a touch of a headache." Deliann replied, but Imrahil rose and took her arm.  
  
"Just the same, I think I shall take her to rest." He said, and Deliann nodded. They left the room, Lothiriel just looking after them. And then she caught sight of the letter, left on her uncle's desk. Without a second thought, she picked it up and read.  
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To The Lord of Dol Amroth, be wary. Our border guards are all but being driven back, and now we hear rumor of attacks upon Rohan. Your offer of readiness is well met. May this pass.  
  
The Lord Denethor of Minas Tirith  
Steward of Gondor

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Lothiriel caught her breath, looking around. 'Your offer of readiness'? "No..." she found herself whispering, shaking her head. Minas Tirith could take care of it's own problems. It did not need the blood of her brothers. But then.... attacks on Rohan. She shook her head again. No hurt could come to the sea, no hurt would come to the sea, and no hurt would come to her family.  
  
"No face should look as such on a day so bright!" A teasing voice startled her. She looked up to see Edemer grinning at her, though his eyes showed worry. Lothiriel looked down, trying to force a smile back. None came. Edemer came to her side and took the letter from her hand. After looking at it for a moment he looked back to her. She looked a bit mad.  
  
"Why would he say such a thing?" She asked. Edemer licked his lips. "Well, Imrahir and I were both there when he penned the offer." He said, "We sent the same to King Theoden, though no reply has been given." Lothiriel looked out the window, unbelieving.  
  
"Why? Why can't we just let the world have it's own troubles?" She laughed, without amusement. "We are the Sea People. We are not in danger."  
  
"I'm surprised at you Lothy." Edemer told her quietly. "I would think you'd be behind this. You do know the shadows creep near? You do know there are evil things creeping throughout the world? That if the madness in Mordor so chose it could easily come for us?"  
  
"Stop." She shut her eyes. And then Edemer had an arm around her. "It may pass." He whispered. But somewhere within her, Lothiriel knew better...  
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Riding took her mind off of things. Brought them back to something simple. The feel of a horse beneath her, the sound of the wind in her ears, along with that constant, distant crashing of waves. She stopped a ways onto the grasses, near the groove of trees where she often went to be alone. Lothiriel found herself letting her mind wander as soon as she stopped. Her eyes drifted to the East, and the ever-present black clouds far in the distance. She forced herself to look away.  
  
Dismounting, she let her mare wander the grass, herself settling under a tall willow. Since they had been children that first summer, Edemer, Imrahir and herself had sat under the trees in this groove by a stream that trickled to the ocean. They'd let her tag along, even thought she was young, and she would listen to them talk of hunting and riding...and now they were grown men, and she sat under the trees alone. Or so she thought.  
  
"Are you mad at me too?" She looked up, and smiled.  
  
"I would think a married man would have better things to do then pass time with his little sister." She said to Imrahir, who was letting his stallion wander off as well. He sat beside her. "Normally yes." He grinned, ruffling her hair. "But I am to meet Edemer soon for our afternoon rounds. I thought I would see you as well...Edemer said you were rather low in spirits today." She didn't answer. "Lothy, there have been orcs and fell things for hundreds of years. It passes. It always does."  
  
Lothiriel kept her eyes on the far-off sea. "Someone always dies though." She whispered. Then shook her head. "Can we talk of something happier?" She looked at him, pushing long dark hair from her face. Imrahir's smile returned. "Care to come patrolling with us, sister?"  
  
She grinned. "Imrahil will have your neck." He laughed. "I'm an old married man, father can say nothing!" And with that, he stood, pulling her from the grass. "Now, where did those horses go?" .  
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After throwing on the clothes she had stolen from Edemer a few years before and tying back her hair, Lothiriel was riding out to the borders with her brothers. Her golden brown mare was rather frisky that afternoon, aching for a nice run. She looked to Edemer, who smirked, and urged his horse forward. Lothiriel let her mare have her way, and the two raced over the grasses. Lothiriel held onto her steed tightly, as her strong legs pounded below. She grinned as she reached the tree line far ahead of her brother.  
  
"Did you even think you had a chance?" Lothiriel asked Edemer with an air. He glared. "It's the blasted horse." He was sure. Lothiriel rubbed her horse's neck. "Aye, Bela is a fast one." She grinned as Bela tossed her head, showing off.  
  
"All right children." Imrahir faked a glare, "Let's look lively and get to work, eh?" Lothiriel sighed and fell behind him, watching the trees for anything out of place. As was usual, there was nothing...  
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"I don't get it, Imrahir..." Lindenna, Imrahir's new wife was saying, setting food on the dinner table along with her house servants. "You'll let your young sister ride along with you to the borders and yet I, who have done so since childhood, am told to remain at home?" Imrahir gulped nervously...until he saw the grin on her pretty face.  
  
"Just teasing, I don't want to go." She assured him, kissing his cheek. From her spot at the table, Lothiriel smiled. She loved Lindenna, who was a lot like Deliann, if not a bit lighter and merrier. Indeed, it had been a while since Deliann had been merry...  
  
"There's not much on the borders anyway." Edemer noted as they began to eat. Lothiriel noticed the spark in his eye as he said it, as though he were wishing there was. "Seems everything's happening in Rohan and Minas Tirith these days..."  
  
"And let's pray it stays that way." Lothiriel cut in, "There are few ways for Mordor to invade our borders without the other lands falling first." She reminded him.  
  
Imrahir eyed them both. "I think..." He said after a moment, "That we will be fine...here. But it will not be long before we leave to aid our kin." He looked right at Lothiriel, who sighed. He was right. They were both right. They could not be children and ignore the need. She blinked back a tear and kept eating. But under the table, Lindenna took her hand. Someone else understood her feelings.  
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	5. Fears And Foreshadowings

  
  
Summer crept by in Dol Amroth much as it always had. The sun came warmer and the flowers grew scattered all across the sea grass. And yet a feeling had settled over the small Oceanside kingdom that hadn't for quite some time. A sense that they were on the edge of the world, and soon may be pushed clean off. .  
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"All those memories,  
Pain and Anger  
Flood back one by one..."

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Beads of sweat formed on her face and neck, falling on her bare arms as she swung the heavy sword around and around. It was August, and any sane young lady would be within the cool stone halls. But Lothiriel didn't want to be inside, not when her aunt was pale in her wandering and murmurings of 'The Doom of Finduilas' followed behind her. Nor did Lothy wish to be out riding, where the shadow could see her. And so she retreated to her courtyard and to her sword that would probably never be put to use.  
  
Finduilas. Hers was a name not said often, and never within Prince Imrahil's hearing. If such happened, his eyes would glaze over and his face go stony, and a harsh voice would give reprimand. Finduilas. The ocean flower left to wilt on Gondor's stone towers. She who had died of the darkness cold and alone in her fear in Minas Tirith. It was widely known that while loyal to him, Imrahil had little love for King Denethor as a human being. Though the truth was it was the cloud in the East that had killed the Princess of Dol Amroth, not her husband who knew little of how to love his wife.  
  
But Lothy didn't think on it. Nor did she think on the fact that Lindenna was with child. Lindenna, who was only a few years older then herself. Who's husband was the son of the Prince who was ready to go to war if need be. No, Princess Lothiriel did not think on these things.  
  
She thought only of the way a blade was meant to feel in one's hands, of how even in the winter it was said that battlefields could grow hot. She didn't mind the sweat that dampened her dark hair, all she wanted to see was her balance improve, her grip remain steady. Perhaps she would never be allowed to go to war, but maybe someday...maybe someday she would find herself forced to defend her home.  
  
Her sword fell as she gasped for breath, the heat making her dizzy. Like it or not, she had better get indoors. To pretend she was stronger then the heat was foolishness. But then, maybe it all was.  
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The night air was sweet. The lanterns hung from the overhangs of halls and balconies, swaying in the soft breeze. The night seemed so blue, the stars so bright, it was easy to forget any troubles. Sitting on the grassy dunes Lothiriel wrapped her arms around her knees against the slight cool of night, watching the waves, and then the sea that reflected the moon. Her sea. Her waves.  
  
"Heard the grand news?" Edemer asked, grinning as he sat beside her. Lothiriel smiled softly, "You mean about Lindenna?" She shut her eyes as the breeze came up again, "Yes. Wonderful, isn't it?"  
  
"It is." He shook his head, his hair falling in his face, "I can't wait. With a father like Imrahir and an uncle like me, the lad will be brought up right."  
  
Lothiriel had to laugh, the sound carrying over the dunes. "Just watch, she'll have a girl and you'll be falling all over yourselves." Edemer grinned again, "But of course."  
  
The quiet came again, the only sound the waves and the grass in the wind.  
  
"I know what you're thinking." Edemer said softly. Lothiriel just smiled. He always did. Just like their father...  
  
"I'll be 18 next month, Edemer." She said simply, resting her chin on her knees. Edemer nodded, "You've got some time ahead of you yet before you become a spinster." He pulled one of her long curls. "You know, I've heard it whispered about that Feldred has his sights set on you."  
  
"Feldred?!" Lothiriel blinked, "Captain Endrin's stableman?" Edemer snickered, and Lothiriel gave him an irritated shove. "A fine joke brother." She hissed as he kept laughing. "A 60 year old man who smells of horses. Just fine."  
  
"Well, you do have a thing for smelling of horses yourself." He reminded her with a wink. She stuck out her tongue at him. Then had to chuckle. Again, they looked to the night.  
  
"Your time will come, Lothy." He said softly, putting an arm around her. She wasn't sure why tears were forming, but they were. Maybe it was that she was worried for the boy who was a man next to her. Maybe it was that she was worried for the future.  
  
Or maybe it was the simple fact that the night was blue, the breeze was sweet, the sea was glassy, the lanterns dancing like sprites...and she had no love to share it with.  
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	6. A Call To Arms

This is where the supernatural touch comes in...any text in italics is either a memory or a dream or both....sometimes it's clear which, sometimes it's not, but that was the point at the time I wrote it XD

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_Lothiriel was halfway up the high hill, in a land she did not know. The sky was an odd shade between black and violet, the color of shadows. Lighting crashed above her head, eerily soundless. Her heart did not seem to beat, her head too numb to even be afraid. She could only climb the hill, her feet stumbling along the hard, packed earth.  
  
Coming to the top, she could see a great span of land in all directions. And in the East, the cloud that had been black for so many years was blood red. Lothiriel gasped...  
  
"It hasn't happened yet." A voice said. She looked beside her...to see her father. But she was not surprised. The wind, ice cold, blew at his long hair, and he seemed.... much younger then she remembered him. His eyes didn't leave the waving grasses below them, where orcs crept, unaware of the two.  
  
"But it might yet." He looked at her then. "You'll have to let him go, Lothy." He reached out and touched her face. "Both of them." Squinting into the distance, she could barely see the burnt remains of a once great city, set upon a hill. And them a beam of lightening crashed before their eyes, and Lothiriel was blinded..._  
  
Her eyes flew open, looking around wildly as she fought for a gulp of air. When it came, she sat up, safe in her own bed. Morning was just touching the sea outside of her windows, glassed for the winter. She shut her eyes, breathing easier. She rubbed her hands together...the feel of the dusty hill still lingered.  
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Summer had long since passed, and now, at the end of February and in the early days of March, Lothiriel had gotten used to waking up from nightmares. Sometimes she saw her mother, sometimes Edemer, but most often her father. What had he been trying to say these weeks? She sighed, banishing it from her mind for the time being.  
  
After dressing, she went to her mirror and brushed her thick dark hair up and pinned it. It was not a common style, but one only a grown woman could wear. As soon as the weather had gotten too chilly for her taste, Lothiriel had started wearing her hair up instead of letting it blow free. She was nearly 7 months past 18, and if she had no ring to show for it, she had her upswept hair. With a rueful smirk to the looking glass, she left the room.  
  
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There were always whispers now, ever since the few days before when Helm's Deep had been rumored attacked. Rumored. In Lothiriel's dreams, she had seen a glimpse of the battle. "Did you hear my lady?" One of the handmaidens passed her saying, "The rumor confirmed, The Rohirrim were indeed attacked in force, yet they overcame the enemy!"  
  
Lothiriel gave a small smile to the young girl. "Yes, I have heard." And she hurried on, to avoid anymore talk of such things...  
  
Deliann looked up at Lothiriel with tired eyes, as the girl came and sat at the foot of her Aunt's bed. Deliann tried to smile...but it was forced. Lothiriel took her pale, thin hand.  
  
"How are you feeling?" She whispered, smile never leaving her face, "Tired, my child." The Lady replied with a sigh. "Always tired..." She weakly reached up to touch her niece's face. "You have not been sleeping?"  
  
"Dreams." Lothiriel shook her head. "Only dreams."  
  
"You are stronger then I." Deliann smiled again, dropping her hand. "But then, you always did take after your mother...and Eodier..." She coughed.  
  
"Where is my Uncle?" Lothiriel asked, steering the conversation. Deliann blinked slowly, "Tending to business." She said softly. "You can probably find him in his council room."  
  
"My thanks." Lothiriel bent to kiss her brow, noting at how her hair was touched with more grey then it had been in months. "Be well, Deliann."  
  
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Imrahil had asked her before if she had been sleeping well, but Lothiriel had avoided the question. Now, she decided, it may be best to tell him. She went to the kitchens to grab a hurried breakfast, bread and tea, the latter she carried along with her through the halls. Not that her body really cared for food, it cared for answers.  
  
At the council room entrance she stopped. Edemer was there, leaning against the wall, looking over at Imrahir. Imrahir stood on the other side of the room; arms folded his fist covering his mouth as he looked at his father. Imrahil was behind his great desk, reading a letter in his hand, bearing a seal of Denethor.  
  
Lothiriel's footsteps caused him to look up suddenly, and the look in his eyes was one she had hoped to never ever see. The letter...the boys...she gasped, her cup falling to shatter on the stone floor..._  
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He watched the ocean. He hadn't really had the heart for much else. The ocean was like the grasses; you could look at them forever. He hadn't thought it would be so. But as usual, he had been wise in heeding Eomund's words. The sea worked hard at healing the pain in his heart. Though Eodier doubted he would ever really be the same. From his spot on the dunes, he took a deep breath of the salty air. He remembered Theodwyn regarding him with a worried eye, much as he imagined his mother might have. Never mind that Theodwyn was a few years his junior. She had balanced her two-year-old son Eomer on her hip, and reached out to hug him farewell. The ocean would do him well. It had taken all that was in him to give her a semi-reassuring smile. Do not worry, he would be fine. And then Eomund, his father's dear friend despite their difference in age, had clapped his shoulder in friendship...though his eyes could hardly meet those of his friend's son. And then Eodier had left...  
  
"My brother invites you to dine with us, Lord Eodier." A soft voice brought him back from his thoughts. He glanced up, to see the gentile eyes of Imrahil's young sister regarding him. Lethemine her name was, he remembered. She was a mite on the thin side, he thought absently, looking back to the water. "I thank his Lordship for the invite, but I think I must decline." He replied quietly. Lethemine nodded. "And pray do not call me by any title, my Lady. My family is not of noble blood."  
  
"Your family is sworn to the friendship of our distant kinsman." The young princess reminded him, in her quiet way. "That is enough for my brother."  
  
"Your brother is too kind." Eodier murmured, pushing long hair from his face as the ocean wind picked up. Lethemine slowly dropped to the grass beside him, still watching him closely.  
  
"You loved your father very much." She stated softly, and Eodier turned to look at her. Slender and said to be frail, she had a boldness he'd never thought to look for in one of Gondor's women. With grey blue eyes, she simply looked back at him, a slight smile on her lips. For the first time in weeks, Eodier felt himself smiling true, though it was small.  
  
"Yes..." He whispered, looking back at the sea. "He was all I had to my family...and I couldn't save him." The smile faded, "I don't deserve any title, princess."  
  
In the grass, he felt her slim hand come to rest on his. He met her eyes again, looking at him closely, honestly. "I know you are noble." She told him, "It is in your eyes. You deserve whatever honor is given." She brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes...he knew from those sea colored eyes that she meant what she said.  
  
"Thank you." He told her, and Lethemine smiled fully. And it was then he knew he loved her....  
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Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go  
Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so  
Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time  
And I wondered why.  
  
As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea  
A vision came o'er me  
Of thundering hooves and beating wings  
In clouds above.  
  
As you turned to go I heard you call my name,  
You were like a bird in a cage spreading its wings to fly  
"The old ways are lost," you sang as you flew  
And I wondered why.  
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Planning and hurrying about had all gone on around her, while she let herself be forgotten and alone with her thoughts. The men of Dol Amroth were heeding Denethor's call for aid. The White City must not fall. Words Lothiriel was hearing from nearly every tongue in the Halls. But she felt numb to it all. She was not even sure what her thoughts were, or if she thought at all. All she knew was that armor would be donned, swords taken up, horses mounted. And that her brother and cousin would be right at her uncle's side.  
  
She was in the great room, where she had learned to wield a blade as well as Edemer and Imrahir. It was the only place where there were none who would pull her into the chaos above, or so she had thought. "Lothy?" She looked up from holding her old sword. Edemer was looking at her seriously, his sword at his hip. "Uncle has asked to speak to us."  
  
Lothiriel frowned. "What does he need my audience for?" she asked, only a touch of disdain in her voice, "I have little say in these matters."  
  
Edemer's look went a bit softer, and he reached out to take her arm. "I don't know little sister, but come along anyway." He tried to give her a reassuring grin, and she tried to return it. But they both knew the other was just as scared as they were.  
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When they entered the council room, Imrahil looked up, the lines of worry on his face deeper, and yet his eyes told them he was brave in the face of Gondor's enemy. Lothiriel held her head a bit higher, trying to look as if she was just as assured. The Prince smiled, though a bit sadly. She noticed he was looking at both of them in a rather tender way, as if remembering something from long ago.  
  
After a moment, he walked to one of his great chests that stood against the far wall. They were old, those chests, no doubt having been there since before Imrahil had even been born, but always there was something put in them the last generation had not. They had carried the treasures of many a Dol Amroth Lord. Now, Imrahil took from one of them something wrapped in paper, and returned to his desk, resting the covered item there. He looked at it for another long moment, Lothiriel and her brother glancing at each other, waiting for their Uncle to speak. He look up at them, again with that sad smile.  
  
"You've been told much of your mother these eight years you've dwelt in my home." He said at last, and Lothiriel nodded. "Very little has been said of your father." He sighed, suddenly seeming far older then his fifty-seven years. "And so I shall tell you of him, of Eodier son of Edemer." Edemer looked up from staring at the floor with a start.  
  
Imrahil nodded, "Yes boy, you were named after your grandfather, a fine soldier of Rohan. He was a dear friend to my far kinsman, Eomund, Marshal of the Mark. It is said that Edemer saved Eomund from drowning when he was a boy, and that, despite your grandfather being much older, they became good friends. Such that when Edemer's first and only son was born, he carried a name of Eomund's line, Eodier. Your grandmother died shortly after your father's birth, and so Edemer took to the plains of Rohan more and more of missing her. He was always said to be a quiet man, and a wise one...it is he who is credited with more then once countering the hot temper of his younger friend. They were always at each other's side, one to defend the other in times of war and battle. Their friendship was strong, unwavering, well known."  
  
Imrahil took a breath, remembering what had been told to him, "One day...seven years before Eomund's death I think it was...there were Orcs about Rohan's borders and well, Eomund could not be stopped from riding out to meet them. Edemer followed him, of course, to fight at his side. Your father, at 35 years old, rode as well, as he had been for years by then. Edemer fell...in his son's arms."  
  
Lothiriel stifled a gasp. She had...never imagined such. They had always been told that their grandfather had died of his heart giving way. Imrahil went on. "Eodier came here...seeking solace, healing. You know how he met my sister, and wed her, and went to live in the mountains as his mother's people had. He could not bear to go back to Edoras, to the Golden Hall, without his father there."  
  
Slowly, Imrahil unwrapped the item he had taken from the chest, and without a word, Edemer found himself reaching to touch the rich green fabric the paper revealed. It came unrolled on the desk...a banner, not too big, and green as the grass met their eyes. A white horse danced upon it, and Lothiriel knew it to be the standard of Rohan. But unlike the standard, behind the horse there was a sword, it's hilt held by two hands on either side. A sign of friendship. Of loyalty. "A blade shared..." Imrahil said, "A fate shared. When I ride to Minas Tirith, my sister son, you will be at my side...but should proclaim your own legacy proudly."  
  
Edemer looked at his uncle, standing up straight, holding his head high, bravely. Lothiriel touched his hand, her heart feeling as if it were being torn, and yet...her other hand touched the banner. Their history, their loyalty...their country. She took on her brother's brave face. If he could be as strong as their father and grandfather had been...well, then so could she.  
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	7. The Soldier Of Dol Amroth

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_Hers was a face she remembered well. So pale, and yet so beautiful...She was looking out over the ocean in the early summer morning, pulling riding gloves over her slim hands. One more ride along the dunes...  
  
'Are you sure?' A voice was asking, and Lethemine looked up, and smiled.  
  
'I've never been more sure about anything, brother.' She replied, and Imrahil smiled, sadly.  
  
'I'll miss you so...' He admitted. Lethemine reached to embrace him.  
  
'I'll be...just fine, Imrahil.' She assured him, in her quiet, yet strong way. 'I have to go with him.'  
  
'I know you care for him Lethemine...'  
  
'I love him.' She said stoutly, pulling away, and looking her brother in the eye. But there was no hardness in her eyes, as there was on her face. 'To stay would only break my heart...would you want that?'  
  
'Never.' Imrahil forced a smile. Lethemine's sparkling grin returned. 'Will...you not at least let there be a royal wedding?'  
  
'Nay...' she shook her head, her long curls swaying, 'It's not his way, nor mine. We marry tonight, quietly, and tomorrow we will be gone.'  
  
Imrahil nodded. He looked at her, smiling true. 'You are stronger then I, my Lethemine.' She smiled back, and embraced him again...  
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"Why have you stayed behind?"  
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Lothiriel's eyes opened slowly. This had not been a nightmare. She had slept well for the first time in weeks...but why had she seen...?  
  
The voice. She sat up, looking about. The sun had not yet risen. The voice had been her father's, but she started to wonder if it had only been wishful imaginings. Lothiriel sighed, remembering the afternoon before...  
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The men had been gathered, all mounted proudly in their fine, gleaming armor before The Halls. Edemer had come out to stand by her as they waited for Imrahil to come and bid them go. In his armor, Edemer breathed hard.  
  
"Here." Imrahir was at his side, loosening the ties of his cousin's chest piece a bit. "Your lungs can't hold if you squeeze 'em in like the rest of us." Edemer gave a frustrated sigh, but nodded.  
  
"You'll look out for yourself, won't you?" Lothiriel looked at her brother, and his face softened. He reached over and hugged her, and even she had to chuckle at being held through metal.  
  
"Eh, I've been fine here, I'll be fine there." He pulled back, smirking. "I promise, Lothy." He reached out and ruffled her hair, as if she were still 10 years old. She tried to feel better, even as his bright blue eyes were so assured.  
  
She embraced her cousin tightly, before Lindenna had him. His bride was trying her best to look brave even as she was eight months with his child, and he went to war. And then Imrahil was there, his face set for battle, calling his men to mount. Lothiriel held Lindenna's hand as the men started off, Imrahil's head held high, his son at his right with the blue standard of the Seaside Halls, his nephew riding at his left, with the standard of Rohan. The sun gleamed on their armor, the wind caught their banners, and Lothiriel had never been so proud...or so scared.  
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"Why have you stayed behind?"  
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The voice came again, now, as she was awake. Lothiriel started, looking about. Slowly, she left her bed, gazing out at the dark sky...why had she stayed behind?  
  
"Because they go to battle." She whispered, "No place for a woman..." Her eyes fell on her sword, which lay on the day bed.  
  
She remembered the dream, the sky of blood red clouds, the fields teeming with orcs, the burnt out city...her father's eyes at seeing it. Lothiriel picked up her blade in its sheath, beginning to understand that dream. Why had she stayed behind...when he had all but asked her to defend her homeland? "Both of my homelands." She whispered, her eyes going from soft...to determined. She hurried to dress in the grey light before dawn...  
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"A cold wind blows right through me,  
I'm made a hollow shell  
There's nothing left, just ash remains; enrich the soil, no soil, no soil...  
Close call there in the shadows  
There's an end to the dark  
'Cause there's someone out there  
Someone like me..." 

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All was quiet outside, the sky pale and the air chilly. Lothiriel blew on her hands as she saddled Bela, who seemed to be a bit perturbed at the early wake up call. She did not hear the soft footsteps on the balcony above.  
  
"I was starting to wonder when you'd be leaving." Lothiriel looked up, startled. Deliann was above her, leaning on the rail.  
  
"You knew I'd go?"  
  
"Yes." Deliann gave a weak smile. "For all of your protests at your family going, I knew that if they did, you would be there."  
  
"Why, Aunt?" Lothiriel asked, swallowing, "Why am I going? It feels like the right thing to do but...why?"  
  
Deliann paused for a moment, smiling softly. "You promised your mother you'd keep an eye on her men, didn't you?" Lothiriel nodded, slowly. "Well, go on then. For your mother's promise and your father's country."  
  
Lothiriel looked at the water. She was right. She'd never stopped being the woman of the house, even when she'd come to live the life of a princess. And she'd always looked after Edemer. Ever since she'd pulled him from an icy river and all but carried him to their borders. She looked up at her aunt in the grey light of dawn.  
  
"You don't mind my leaving?"  
  
"Lindenna and I can hold down the fort." Deliann smiled. "Go on now, you've got a lot of riding to do to catch up."  
  
With a deep breath of the cold air, Lothiriel mounted, adjusted her cloak, and urged Bela forward, to the East...  
  
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_'I love you.'  
  
The words always made her heart leap into her throat. From her spot, lying in the grass, Lethemine turned her head to look at him. A smile spread over her face, slowly. Eodier was grinning at her, propped up on his elbow. He plucked a thistle flower from the long blades around them, and tucked it into her dark curls. 'And I you.' She murmured, looking back at the sky above, as her fingers playing with her hair. He had been so happy these days, so different then when she'd first met him a month before. He smiled so much more. Ever since she'd let him kiss her goodnight one evening after dinner, things had been so...sweet. So right-feeling.  
  
'Rather like fate, wouldn't you say?' She whispered.  
  
'Fate?' Eodier looked down at her curiously. Lethemine turned her pondering, luminous gaze on him. 'Would we have met if you'd never come here?'  
  
He sighed, touching the flower in her hair. 'Would I have come here if my father had not died?' He smirked again. 'No, I wouldn't have, Lethemine.' She smiled.  
  
'I told you...there is always a reason.' Eodier leaned over her then, brushing at her hair with his worn hands. 'You're the only one I'd listen to it from.' He smiled, kissing her softly. Lethemine wrapped her slim arms around him. Always a reason..._

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The cold had nearly frozen her eyelids shut, or so it felt. Lothiriel woke slowly...then hurried to look at the dark sky. She'd only slept an hour. She let out a relieved breath. There was little time to spare; she'd only meant to rest for a short while. She had to hurry to catch up to the men.  
  
Mounting Bela again, she felt a small smile tug at her lips. She'd hardly any memories of her mother, even fewer of her and her father together. It made her happy.  
  
The wind blew. Lothiriel's smile faded, and she bit her lip. Always a reason...a reason for what? She shivered, and hurried Bela along.  
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Edemer shook his head, to keep from drifting off to sleep. It was his turn at watch, and he yawned in the chilly darkness of the camp. The Fire was little more then embers, but he really wished to be curled up sleeping near its warmth. Through the darkness, something reached his ears, and with a start he looked around. The sound came again...a horse's cry. Edemer grabbed his sword and hurried into the night, as the camp began to rouse at the sound as well.  
  
Lothiriel could see the lights of their fires ahead, and she grinned, urging Bela on faster, almost too late, she saw him in the dark, and reined Bela in with a gasp. The horse reared, nearly giving Edemer a nasty kick as she did. As it was, he did lose his footing in the dark, and stumbled.  
  
"Edemer!" Lothiriel cried. The young man coughed, then scrambling up quickly, his eyes went wide.  
  
"Lothy?!" He blinked. "How...what in the bloody name of Mordor are you doing here?!"  
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Imrahil did not look pleased. Lothiriel stared at her feet as she stood in his tent, Edemer and Imrahir not too far behind her. The Prince of The Seaside Halls was giving his niece a hard glare, but, though not disrespectful, Lothiriel refused to give any sign of remorse. "I'm surprised at you, Lothiriel." Imrahil finally spoke. "Had you been the older and they the younger, I would have expected such a stunt from your brother and cousin." Edemer and Imrahir both glanced at each other with a small grin. Imrahil's glare made their smiles fall quickly though. "You've always been the sensible one. What of this?"  
  
Lothiriel looked up, her jaw set resolutely. She had never truly been at odds with her uncle, but she had seen enough of those who were. Imrahil was never unjust, but he had a way of speaking to those he found at fault that made them wonder why they ever wanted to protest at all. It was the proud way of the Sea Folk. Lothiriel had to prove her will as strong as his. The way of the Rohirrim.  
  
"This seemed sensible as well." She could see Imrahil calculating her, behind his eyes. She resisted the urge to bite her lip. "If you felt so, why did you not tell me before we departed from the Halls?"  
  
"Forgive me for that much, Uncle." She said evenly, "But the thought had not come to me then."  
  
Imrahil's shoulders relaxed a bit. Though still wary, Lothiriel relaxed a bit as well. "I don't understand, Lothiriel." He sighed. "For so long, you have hated the very mention of war."  
  
"And I still do." She lifted her chin a bit. "But I can no longer ignore it, Uncle." She gazed at him evenly. "For many nights, my father has spoken to me, in my dreams." Lothiriel could hear Edemer's sharp intake of breath, "He has spoken to me of Gondor, and...and of Rohan. He has spoken to me of my family, of my roots...and of his deep love for it all. And now that I no longer can ignore it, pretend it is not there Uncle..." She gulped, "The spirit that is left is one that wants to fight for these things as well. To fight for my family...your family, and my father's." She blinked back a tear, but kept her stance tall, proud. Imrahil looked at her for a long moment. Then let out a long breath.  
  
"Well...I suppose it will be worth the look on that Denethor's face." He sighed, "When he sees I let a woman march at my side."  
  
A slow grin spread over Lothiriel's face.  
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At the next morning's light, Lothiriel was already dressed, and putting on the silvery armor Imrahil had given her...the armor of her Aunt's. "Deliann rarely raised a sword alongside me..." He had said, "But in younger days, she did so love to ride with the host...I always take her things along...just in case."  
  
Although relieved not to have to wear men's armor, Lothiriel wasn't exactly all that comfortable. 'Gondorian women have always been a bit slighter then you.' She reminded herself with a huff, as she loosened the ties under her arms a bit. She was definitely much...fuller then Deliann had ever been. She pulled her cloak over her shoulders then, her hand brushing the crest on the chest of her breast-piece. It was the seal of Deliann's maiden name, a wheat stack bound in a field. But Lothiriel fancied that if one looked the right way, it rather resembled a thistle blossom.  
  
"I don't know if I want you to go." She turned at Edemer's statement. From his horse, her older brother was chewing his bottom lip, looking at her with a worried eye. She grinned. "I'll be just fine, Edemer." She assured him, mounting Bela stiffly. "I can hold my own. Besides, half the army has seen just as much combat as I have."  
  
"You make a good point." Edemer had to grin as well. "Just...promise me you'll let me keep an eye on you?"  
  
"Only if you let me keep one on you as well." She reined her mare beside his. He nodded.  
  
"As you wish, my lady." He replied, in a tone that said he was bracing himself...but trying to sound at ease. The host rode on.  
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They kept at a swift pace, the hooves thundering over the late winter tundra. Lothiriel worked to keep her spirit strong, even as they were riding toward the great blackness in the East. The scouts who rode ahead would return, speaking of an army of thousands making for Minas Tirith. Thousands! Lothiriel found herself praying to whoever may hear for the strength, and for the power, to take it all on.  
  
The journey did not take very long...not long enough, Lothiriel thought.... and soon, they could see Ecthellion before them, and a blackness on the far horizon as well. Imrahil motioned his men to take strict formation, and Lothiriel he brought to ride at his left flank, Imrahir his right.  
  
"Uncle, why do you give me this position?" She asked, as the city came closer and closer. Neither she nor Edemer had ever flanked him...that position was for his children, or his highest captains. Imrahil did not turn to her when he spoke.  
  
"Lothiriel, here I will have it known that you are my daughter." He told her, "There are those who would show a woman who was doing what you are some of the lowest forms of disrespect." He grunted, "Were you even known as my niece...Men of these mountains are too arrogant to see that as high enough nobility. And sadly, your mother is no longer recognized royalty. If known as my daughter, it will go better for you."  
  
"I can handle any man who treads too far." She snorted, but Imrahil shook his head.  
  
"I don't doubt it, but I would not see your name tarnished, which it would be nonetheless." He said, and she sighed.  
  
"Well, all right then, Uncle...father." She smirked, "I guess it doesn't change too much." And with that, she was able to have a smile on her face...even as they passed through the gates of The White City...  
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	8. Thicker Then Wine

Yay more!....which, isn't that amazing, seeing as how this is already completed XD  
  
Devonshirelass: thank you so much for your reviews...I'm sure SOMEONE else is reading this as well XD  
  
I wrote a one-shot King Arthur ficlet today on a whim while listening to Loreena and shopping for a Waterhouse poster, go check it out if you're so inclined )  
  
Slight change on who goes/who stays on Faramir's famous suicide run  
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The wind was strong that day. Standing upon the wall, Lothiriel sighed, watching the horizon. The sky was dark, the sun dimmed by the thick clouds rolling over the skies above the Pelennor. All was strangely calm...too calm. A day had passed since the company of Imrahil had entered the City, along with the allies from all over the land. Three thousand full, she had counted, but it was whispered that this would not be enough. Lothiriel looked at the vast streets below, which were filled almost only with men in armor, save the occasional women outside of the Houses of Healing, and herself, of course.  
  
But this was not thought to be a great enough number. Lothiriel shut her eyes. She almost wished their enemy would come and they'd have this over with. But no, they were waiting, all of them. She herself had very little to do.  
  
Her Uncle spent much time speaking with Denethor, Imrahir and Edemer often with him. Edemer had been getting quite a few odd looks, as if the men of Gondor wanted to know where the rest of his golden haired kin were.  
  
Indeed, the Rohirrim had been asked to come and aid, and there was no word yet in return. Lothiriel sighed. Not only did she wish her northern kin were there, but also one she had not seen in some years...but he was gone on an errand, and that was all anyone told her.  
  
Her eyes drifted along the length of the wall, to see the Halfling standing not forty feet away. Pippin, she remembered his name was. It was still hard to set in her mind that he was more then ten years her senior, and he was no taller then a child. But he was such a kind fellow, and often looked a bit lost among her tall kin. She liked him. He caught her eye as he spoke to his friend, the soldier Beregond, and smiled. Lothiriel gave him a small wave and a smile in return. They had it in common that they were the minorities in the White City, presently.  
  
Suddenly, Lothiriel's thoughts were cut short by a piercing cry above her head. Startled, her hand instinctively went to the blade at her hip, as her eyes darted frantically about, searching the cloudy skies...she found them as soon as she heard the Hobbit cry the words "Black Riders!"  
  
Even as they filled her with terror, she had seen them before. She had seen them, flying through the air, wretched and cruel and shrieking...but she had thought them only things of nightmares. Lothiriel felt sick, watching them dart back and forth over the fields below...until she saw the one whom the beasts were chasing. "Faramir!" She cried, before any other had realized...  
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.Running along the walls to the gates, Lothiriel watched in horror as Faramir and his men's horses went mad at the cries of the winged creatures above. But then there was a Light behind them, and the Black Riders seemed to go mad themselves.... she could not clearly see, as she climbed from the wall to the ground, but she did see the beasts' retreating, to wherever they had come.  
  
Beregond had joined her at the Gates as they opened, and all the men around called out as The Lord Faramir rode into the City, and Lothiriel gasped. Behind him, there was a Rider in White. She knew from the old stories, this was an Istari...  
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Faramir exclaimed over seeing the Hobbit there, but when he looked up to see Lothiriel, his eyes went even wider. "Lothiriel?!" The Princess tore her eyes away from the wizard, and gave her cousin a shaky grin. "My mind is surely still at odds, to see a Princess of The Seaside Halls here, where war a bitter promise!"  
  
"Aye, you see correctly." Lothiriel stepped forward, and Faramir did not hesitate in giving her a warm embrace. He was the only one of her cousins in Minas Tirith she had known...the only one who had ever come to visit the Halls. He laughed.  
  
"And in armor no less!" He pulled back, shaking his head. The Wizard behind him cleared his throat. Faramir turned.  
  
"I'm afraid we must make haste, for you are weary, and there is much to say yet." Gandalf said kindly. Faramir nodded. "Walk with me, Lothiriel!" Faramir said, "And the Halfling as well!" Pippin seemed happy to walk by the Wizard, Lothiriel noticed. "So tell me, Lothiriel, what brought you here? And how did you ever get Lord Imrahil to let you come along?"  
  
"My father didn't have much say in the matter." Lothiriel grinned, and Faramir nodded slowly, smiling back at her, realizing the game.  
  
"Well, I trust you've been treated well?" He asked, and she nodded. Indeed, at hearing she was the daughter of Imrahil, most of the men's tongues had been stilled.  
  
"Good, good...is Edemer here as well? I haven't seen either of you for the past three winters, I'm sure he must be taller then I by now."  
  
"He is here." Lothiriel grinned again, "And well taller then most men of this City..." Their words together ended quickly though, as they came to the White Tower.  
  
"I must go." Faramir breathed, and Lothiriel realized that he did indeed look weary. "But I will speak to you later, cousin." He smiled at her, as he left her standing outside of Ecthellion. "It is good to see you!"  
  
"And you!" Lothiriel called after him, waving. She smiled to herself. She felt a bit better, as another one of her favorite people in this world joined them in the City.  
  
The feeling was short lived, however. High, high above, so high that none saw them, the shrieks of the Winged Riders could be heard, and she felt her hands tremble...  
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The sun was low in the sky when Lothiriel saw her uncle and brothers leaving the Steward's Hall, Imrahil with a grim look to his face. Edemer saw her, and came to join her as she looked out from the foot of Ecthellion. She shivered.  
  
"Can you hear it?" She asked in a small voice. Edemer frowned. "Hear what?"  
  
"Nothing..." She mumbled, "So, how do things go inside?" Edemer sighed, running a hand through his hair.  
  
"They go...by the Valar, Lothy, but Denethor is a hardheaded one!" He glared, "Imrahil is very courteous with him, but I know the man irks him. I can see it in his eyes..." He smirked, "And I think Denethor knows it. His eye gives the ever so slightest twitch whenever Uncle speaks...as if he's waiting for Imrahil to draw his sword on him."  
  
"He never speaks of it..." Lothiriel said quietly, "But Deliann has said that he loved his elder sister Finduilas very much. He mourned for weeks when he heard of her death."  
  
"Yes, I remember." Edemer replied, idly watching the horizon. Lothiriel eyed his profile...he looked so much like their father. "I'm proud of before personal grudge." He smirked again, "Must be that cold bit of elf-blood that still drifts about in our veins."  
  
"Well, I wish I had a bit more of it then." Lothiriel commented, glancing up at the clouds again. "I as well." Edemer nodded, "I was ready to rise and strike Denethor for the way he spoke to Faramir in there. He always preferred Boromir over him."  
  
"Another family member who seems to have passed before we ever met him." Lothiriel mumbled. "It's as if we're the ones no one ever speaks of. I wonder how many others aren't aware of our existence?"  
  
"Well, Denethor is now, for certain." Edemer's smirk became a full grin; "I'll never forget the look on his face when we came here...when he saw you. He went pale as a ghost." He looked at his sister, "Maybe you should go in there for the talks of plans of attack. He'd more then likely break into a cold sweat having you there, looking like Finduilas...only, a Finduilas who wouldn't sit to be shouted at."  
  
"I'd rather not."  
  
"Ah well..." Edemer sighed, backing away. "The sun sets. I think I'll take some rest..." He looked to see if anyone was about to hear him, then smiled at her. "Try to smile, little sister. The battle hasn't begun yet."  
  
As he walked away, Lothiriel just looked at the sky. The battle hadn't begun, but her nightmares had begun to come true...  
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_It was a sunny day on the shores, when she met her cousin. She had to look up...a ways up. He was tall, of a same height as Edemer and Imrahir.  
  
"Well, you must be Lothiriel." He said, and Lothiriel wondered at the tears that seemed to be in his eyes. She decided to just smile.  
  
"It's nice to meet you, cousin Faramir." She tipped her head. Later, her aunt would tell her of how much Lothy resembled her mother, who in turn looked much like her sister, Finduilas. That their blood had the touch of Elven-kind in it, and though she would have the frame of the daughter of Eodier, she would still forever have the face of her mother's people. "How old are you, Princess?" He asked  
  
"Eleven, going on twelve, cousin."  
  
"Your brother tells me you're quite the little sword's maiden." His eyes twinkled, and she couldn't suppress a grin.  
  
"He lies..." She replied, "I'm the best sword's maiden."  
  
"It's always good to be honest then!" He laughed aloud, taking her hand and walking along the shore. "Let's you and I go back to the Halls, that I may see you prove your title...."_  
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"Lothy!"  
  
Lothiriel's eyes flew open at the urgent whisper. In her room in Ecthellion, she sat up in the semidarkness before dawn, to see Edemer at her doorway. "What's wrong?" She yawned, shivering as her feet hit the cold stone floor.  
  
"Hurry, get dressed and ready." He said, and Lothiriel realized he was already in his armor and fully armed. He looked grim, and yet his eyes held a fire of excitement that only a young man could ever have over such matters. "They're saying Osgiliath will be attacked before this day is over."  
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She stood with her uncle's men, in full armor, watching. And trying to be as strong as she knew how, as her cousin mounted in the growing light. His face was as hard as stone, after receiving the cold words of his father. 'That depends on the manner of your return.' It was enough to make Imrahil grasp his reins until his knuckles were white.  
  
After a few quiet words with the wizard Gandalf, however, Faramir's face softened...but only a little. "Whoever is willing may accompany me." He said aloud, to those who waited and watched him nearby. "Though I tell you the truth, it is likely that many shall not return."  
  
Lothiriel saw Imrahil raise his head, and her throat went dry. "My sister-son, I will ride with you, and what men I can spare from the City walls." Faramir looked gratefully upon his uncle. "My thanks, Uncle..."  
  
"Imrahir..." Imrahil turned to his son, "Wait with the rest by the walls. Denethor will send you to our aid should we need it."  
  
"Father..." Imrahir worked at staying calm, but it was obvious he did not like this. "I ask that you let me ride out at your side. I could not do less, it would near kill me."  
  
"But my son..." Imrahil looked on him in that commanding, yet understanding way with which he spoke to his children. "My men must be led by you, you know this."  
  
"Uncle..." Edemer stepped forward, stopping by Imrahil's horse. "If it pleases you, I will lead the men at the walls, that your son might carry your honor at your side." He remembered the ruse then, and smirked a little. "For after all, your daughter carries your command as well."  
  
A slight smile played with the corners of Imrahil's proud mouth as Lothiriel stood a bit taller, but it faded quickly. "You speak wisely, nephew." The Prince tipped his head. "So be it then. Edemer, Lothiriel...you will wait at the walls with my forces for Denethor to send you forth, if need be." At that, Imrahil spared a glance at The Wizard and Faramir. "And he will." 'Or I shall return from my grave to strangle him...' .  
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And so, as the sun was on the rise over Minas Tirith, so was the promise of the blackest days to come. Faramir went forth, with those few who would be spared, toward Osgiliath.  
  
Many looked to Edemer now that he was in a place of some power, and as he was fair-haired the soldiers of The White City seemed to think he could tell them where the Rohirrim were. Why had they not come? Were they even on the way? Had word reached Edoras? They did not seem to realize that he'd not set foot in Rohan for nearly eight years, and certainly had no idea.  
  
From her place, mounted on Bela by the gates, Lothiriel could see, far-off, a slow blackness creeping up the River Anduin. "So few of us..." She whispered to herself, drawing on the strength of her father's spirit. "Send them soon..." She prayed, to whoever was listening, her heart pleading that her family be spared, even as her mind was set for whatever would come.  
  
"Oh please, let them come soon..."  
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	9. The Deep Breath

  
  
Wind in time  
rapes the flower trembling on the vine  
and nothing yields to shelter...  
  
From above  
They say temptation will  
Destroy our Love  
The never-ending hunger...  
  
But I fear I have nothing to give  
I have so much to lose  
here in this lonely place...

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The day passed, and still Lothiriel waited by the walls for word of what happened in far-off Osgiliath. Into the early night, she watching anxiously, but little could be seen. The torches were lit, the men rested their weapons and leaned against the walls for sleep, but Lothiriel still watched. She didn't want to rest; to rest would be to let her thoughts dwell on things unpleasant.  
  
Finally, a rider could be heard below on the fields, and he came into the light of their torches swiftly. Lothiriel's hope at seeing him unharmed was dashed at his grave expression.  
"They come." He said simply, his eyes glazed as if he'd seen the very fires of Mordor devour him. "Lead by The Black Captain Himself."  
  
After such news, not a single person slept, at least not peacefully. Even Edemer looked grim. Little hope was allowed to Faramir and Imrahil, but Lothiriel clung to it stubbornly...desperately.  
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Dawn of the next day was even bleaker and blacker then the last. The enemy had broken the hold at Anduin, and Faramir was said to be retreating across the Pelennor. From her ever faithful watch on the walls, Lothiriel saw the Wizard ride away to her cousin's aid, saw Denethor looking down on it all with an expression drained of emotion.  
She then saw the Hobbit...Pippin...alone, without the Wizard Gandalf to lend him strength. Now he went to her brother, touching his arm so that the tall Rohirrim would look down to him. "The men say your father was from Rohan...tell me, do you know if they are coming?" The young Hobbit's eyes were so wide, so full of fear and courage, hope and despair at once. "Did Gondor's messenger make it to Rohan?"  
  
Lothiriel already knew how Edemer would reply; he'd had to say it so many times. But now, her brother seemed choked up, unsure of his answer. She turned back to watching the black sky quickly, lest the other soldiers see her tears of weakness. But then, they were all afraid. The blackness had pierced everyone's heart, had lent despair upon them all. The far-off smoke and shouts of war were ever growing nearer, and there would be no shame in being seen this way. And so, not breaking her stiff, alert stance, Lothiriel bent her head slightly, and wept.  
  
Another sleepless night fell.  
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Those who had managed to sleep woke to the bitter sight of rolling black dust and fumes, red flashes within them, slowly making their way over the fields. No one needed to explain what was happening, though in shouts many did. The walls of the Causeway Forts had been breached.  
"Faramir." Lothiriel breathed, setting her face grimly though not knowing who lived and who had died was driving her mad. Her uncle, her cousins...beside her, Edemer rested a hand on her shoulder, trying to lend her some bit of strength and courage.  
  
And then, at midmorning, the Wizard was riding through the gates again, the wounded of the Fort being carried in behind him. Though his footsteps seemed set for the Tower, Lothiriel could not bear waiting for news. She broke away from her Uncle's men and hurried to speak to him, all the while keeping an eye on the wounded that passed by for any familiar face.  
"Pray tell me..." She asked, catching Gandalf's arm, and he looked at her. "I must know...do my...my Father and brother and cousin, do they live?"  
"They do, Lothiriel of Rohan." He replied quietly, his face set grimly, though his eyes twinkled. Lothiriel's however went wide, before she remembered that this man was Istari. "And their resolve to stay and fight is strong. You and your brother are to stay ready to ride." And then he turned, and was gone, toward the tower.  
  
Lothiriel took a deep breath. They were alive. She turned, and hurried back down, outside of the gates and to her brother, and mounted Bela swiftly. Edemer glanced at her.  
"Is all well?"  
"As well as can be." Lothiriel replied, head held high, renewed determination now painted on her features. "Stand ready."  
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Though ready they were, the soldiers were not sent forth, and it drove some of them close to madness. They could clearly see the Pelennor being sacked, and they could see the farms, though deserted, being burned to rubble below them, could see the wounded trickling into the city in streams, and then rivers. But still, the armies were not sent forth. Lothiriel more then once thought of simply leading the men forward without Denethor's command, but remembered Imrahil's instructions.  
  
And so they waited, and watched, and when evening fell the bulk of the City's soldiers could be seen below, staying in formation, a deadly orderly dance below on the spring grasses. Faramir most surely lead them, and Lothiriel watched the tiny figures far and below closely. They became fewer and fewer, and her heart sank, though she clutched her standard and sword resolutely.  
  
Lothiriel chanced a glance upward, to the gates high above her, and saw Denethor. He had come at last to see what went on below, fully dressed in chain mail and armor, watching all with a grim eye. Lothiriel looked back to the battlefield below...she could make out Faramir clearly now, could see her father and cousin as well fighting bravely at his side. The enemy was a thick, boiling black mass, but Faramir's forces seemed to be doing well, though they were slowly retreating...she felt a presence beside her then, which was not her brother's. She looked to see another soldier taking his place with them, who wore neither chain nor armor, only a long grey cloak and staff, as he sat waiting on his snow white mount.  
  
And then, there was a great cry from the men waiting outside of the gates. From the West, horsemen of the enemy sprang up, a number greater then most had imagined. The Pelennor Fields were now black with their foulness, the green chased away by the Dark Lord's hordes. They swept down upon Faramir's company swiftly, scattering and shattering his line to a most certain doom...  
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Lothiriel waited for the command forward, eyes blazing now, at the thought that the seething horde might have slain her kin.... but it did not come. She threw her glare up to the walls, to Denethor...to her Uncle. He seemed unable to speak for a moment, his eyes glazed over and wide...  
  
"LORD DENETHOR!" She cried, and his spell was broken. He looked down at her, and started in almost terror. Lothiriel could not know that in that moment, he saw Finduilas. He saw her in his niece's place, glaring up at him, the fires of war lighting the contempt upon her face. "You will send us forth!" She shouted, and Denethor returned to the then and there...  
  
"Sound the charge!" He called clearly, face once again set for war, as though it had never changed. The horns sounded, and with a cry, Edemer spurred his mount forward, Lothiriel only a stride behind, sword drawn and blue banners flying. And before them both, Gandalf threw back his cloak, the white brilliance opening the path for the Swan-Knights to ride into the terrible blackness...  
  
"Amroth for Gondor! Amroth to Faramir!"  
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	10. Tears Of Stone

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Down into the darkness, onto the battlefields of blood and fire and young grass trampled beneath hate and desperation. The foul creatures fled from the brilliance of the Wizard, and the blades that were swung upon them with no remorse or pity. The company was great, and the enemy fell back, as Gondor swept in to defend their own.  
  
It was the first time Lothiriel's sword hit flesh, and it hit flesh hard. No longer virgin to such violence, the Princess did not allow herself the time to dwell on it. She forced all thought of disgust and horror from her mind fiercely, and thought only of what she had been taught, of what she had begged as a girl to learn. She heard her cousin's voice in her head as she rode, as black blood coated her sword and shrieks and shouts sounded under Bela's hooves.  
  
'Watch your back, Lothiriel...  
  
'Swift and strong, Lothiriel...'  
  
'Keep your balance, Lothiriel...'  
  
At one point, she was able to pause, to blink, to look around. The furious dance went on around her, falling, bleeding, tearing...she was blind to the terror yet, her eyes sought only her loved ones. Imrahir was far off but doing well, her father was noble and furious, her brother leading and commanding the men with perfection. And Faramir... .  
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Her sword sang through the air as it severed the head of another enemy, before she looked about again. Where was Faramir? And then from above, she heard the terrible, nightmarish shrieking...  
"Nazgul!" Imrahil cried, and it was at that moment that Lothiriel spotted her cousin. Upon the ground he lay, newly fallen from his mount, an ugly black dart embedded within him. A foul Harad was rushing toward his still form, red sword raised to take his head. Lothiriel could recall no thought, no feeling that she felt in that moment. She could only feel Bela beneath her, and her sword before her. With a fierce shout, She charged forward.  
  
She had hewn the evil soldier in two, but she did not stop. She went blind then, striking at all creatures that moved around her, seeing them all as her cousin's assassin. Black, red, blood drenched her sword, came up to stain her face, twisted in rage...and then, the horns of retreat sounded.  
  
Lothiriel awoke. She looked about...the men had done well. But they paled to see, for from the East there came a terrible sight. Thousands upon thousands of the enemy were pouring onto the fields, the Nazgul flying above them. She turned to see her uncle on his mount, with Faramir motionless in his arms. "To the walls!" Imrahil cried, once again the leader of his soldiers.  
  
They followed, victorious yet doomed still.  
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In the City there was both cheer and grief together, as Imrahil bore Faramir with him to the White Tower. A dent had been made, but it would and was soon filled in again, twice over, the Nazgul screaming black curses above and a third of Faramir and Imrahil's men laying dead or gravely wounded.  
"Does Death lay upon him?" Lothiriel asked, when Imrahil descended, and he and his son made to carry the fallen Faramir to his father.  
"I do not dare to hope for the best, Lothy." Imrahil whispered, and then he was gone. .  
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There were no tears for Lothiriel. She simply looked down at herself...at the blood on her armor, in her hair, and felt numb. Distantly, she found herself wondering what Deliann would think of her looking like this. Slowly, she ran a hand through her long hair in an attempt to straighten it, as her eyes looked off into space. She knew there was a wave wanting to break...a wave that would remind her of the death and bring her crashing into the reality of all that had happened. She had killed...blood lie on her hands...Faramir was most likely dead...  
  
"LOTHY!" She heard a cry, a million miles away and right behind her. She turned, and her brother was there, crushing her numb, frozen form to him. "I didn't see you return and I thought the worst! Oh but you're here, you're alive, all is well!"  
Shakily, she hugged him back, and then he was pulling away. Lothiriel blinked...vacant, faraway eyes almost. "Faramir..." She said at last, "He...he might be..."  
  
"Yes, I heard the men speaking of it..." His eyes grew saddened..."Keep up hope, Lothiriel!" He urged her, and she tilted her head. He took in her eyes and vacant expression worriedly. "Lothy? Lothy what's wrong?"  
  
"I..." She gulped, shutting her eyes, some form of expression returning to her face as she did. "Oh Edemer..." She whispered, "How did I do it?"  
"With that iron spirit of yours." He whispered back. "Just do not think about it, Lothiriel. I won't either. Just...don't lose hope on me."  
  
She opened her eyes, and nodded. "I won't."  
  
"You're a strong one, little sister." He went on, "Just be strong, as you have been through all of this."  
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And indeed, all strength of spirit was needed, as the enemy finally enclosed the White City. The remaining few soldiers who had survived outside made their way in, and the gates were shut, as the roar of the enemy filled the ears of all. Through the night they came to that place, their numbers growing and growing, until, on the pale morning, none could fathom a guess as to how many there were. Hardly a green blade of the field could be seen beyond their Black Army.  
  
"The Rohirrim have not come." The soldier Ingold said, "They cannot come now. The enemy is too great."  
  
"Then we are on our own." Edemer said grimly, though his face was set as stone. Deep in her heart, Lothiriel wept. But it was very deep within her, so deep the feeling felt to her far off and echoing. Her mind was set to courage, to strength...but oh, how she did wish to weep, as she gazed down upon the black masses, the circling Nazgul, the bloodthirsty sea digging trenches and lighting fires. They brought machines, devices with which they would hurl fire and stone at the smooth, high walls.  
  
"They cannot break these walls." The men of the City exclaimed, as they sent their rain of arrows down on the black foe. "None can, they shall not enter this place."  
  
"So you say." Lothiriel heard herself reply, to no one in particular. "But how long can we live within?"  
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She did not have to wonder long. For the great catapults sent huge flaming stones over and above the walls, to break and smash upon the streets of the first circle of Minas Tirith. Screams of surprised terror filled the streets, as these strange burning stones rained down on the White City, crumbling the foundations and streets and lives. Flames leapt to life through the first level, and many were forced to leave their places at the walls and douse the flames, Lothiriel among them. It was natural, somehow, that she would help quell the flames. Her mind was running on instinct...she could not fire a bow, so she made herself of use elsewhere.  
  
She dodged the rain of fire for water, helping men drench lighted roofs and houses. Ashes and sparks burned into her clothes, scarred her hands and singed her hair, but she kept on. Princess Lothiriel she was, she kept telling herself, and she would stay strong...  
  
And then, her resolve very nearly snapped. Another great stone fell from the sky right in front of her, but she paid it no heed, simply ran around it with her bucket to douse yet another burning armory. But then, along with it, fell another kind of volley. Lothiriel cried out in terror, her voice joining that of nearly every soldier who saw.  
  
The faces, faces of their comrades that had fallen in battle the night before. Their heads torn from their bodies were being hurled over the walls along with the stones, so as the enemy broke their city they also broke their spirits. The faces were twisted, mutilated, looking to have died in great pain. Lothiriel fell to her knees, shaking; to see the head of a young soldier she'd been a child alongside of lying not ten feet away in the cluttered, sooty street along with scores more.  
  
Weapons fell, groans and cries of horror sounded, and Lothiriel stumbled back to the walls. Her people's men stood strong, stood brave...save two. Imrahir was there, weeping openly, as he looked down at the head of Imrahil's Captain of The Guard...Lindenna's father. And Edemer looked like a lost little boy. Like the boy Lothiriel had dragged from the Ringlo, shivering and helpless, bruised and cold. She had to turn...she had to look away...she could not linger near them.  
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She clung to the walls, eyes wide, as flaming stone after flaming stone passed over her head, and Lothiriel lost hope. She raised her face, stained with dirt, soot and blood to the heavens. It came to her then that she would never again feel the ocean breezes on her face, be lulled to sleep by the pounding of the sea...she would never see the land of grass that was her father's home. She would die here; another twisted and mutilated body among thousands...  
  
The drums pounded below, and she saw the great battering ram beating against the walls. She saw the Black Captain raise his voice and in a terrible, evil tongue cry out. The Gate of iron, that was said to hold against all, broke. In rode the Lord of The Nazgul; under the archway no enemy had ever passed. All fled from him, or like Lothiriel, all turned away in despair. Away from the Black One...  
  
All save one. Gandalf stood strong, a White Light in the madness. "You cannot enter here." He said, aloud and clear and strong, "Go back to the Abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master. Go!"  
  
The Black Rider flung back his hood, and behold! He had a kingly crown, and yet upon no head visible was it set. The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came a deadly laughter.  
  
"Old fool!" He said, " Old fool! This is my hour! Do you not know death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!" And with that he lifted high his sword and flames ran down the blade...  
  
Far away yet watching, Lothiriel let out a long, echoing cry...of desperation, frustration, and defeat. Her face pressed against the stone ridge of the wall, in her hopelessness she waited for the cries that would mean the White Wizard had fallen. But none came.  
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Silence. The sun had come over the hills fully, and there was a deafening silence, a pause. Weakly, afraid to dare a hope Lothiriel looked up, just as the clear, echoing horns sounded, horns of friends not foes. The Black Captain let out a screech of frustration, annoyance and hidden dread. Lothiriel wanted to weep, to laugh, or shout, as she saw them. Spears, rows upon rows of endless spears breaking into the black sea...Rohan had come at last  
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	11. Wind In Time

Gods-girl2004: Yes I think I noticed that later on, after it was done. I believe at the time though I must have been thinking that the Dunedain carried the blood of Númenor...basically that while all the rangers were Dunedain, not all Dunedain were rangers? Something to that effect. I was just trying to push the point that I was believing the whole legend that Imrahil's family had the long-lived blood, which explains why some members of his line seemed to have long lives. I'm still not sure if Dunedain means strictly ranger, or bearer of that spiffy elven gene, lol.

Thank you all for the reviews!! Sorry about the delay, busy weekend...White Hawk readers, never fear, I'm just going through an annoying bout of writer's block, happens every few weeks. Must be the moon cycles :P Give me a few days more for it to pass, lol...  
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"Amroth!" Imrahil's voice rang out clear, as the cries and songs of the Rohirrim rose to greet the city. "Amroth to arms! Amroth to the walls!"  
  
Lothiriel felt her spirit lift, high above the dashed hopes and her readiness for death, above the blood and gore and flame. The Black Captain had vanished, and while they were still strong, the enemy seemed to cower from the Riders. And as the Princess stood looking down, tears fell from her face, tears of release. Hope was not gone, not when she could see the King of Rohan leading his huge company forward. The King of Rohan, his standards flying high and grand against the blackness, as a golden light into the gloom.  
  
And then she turned, heeding her Uncle's command. By some miracle, the stable that housed Bela had not yet burned, though the fires crept near. The mare was thrashing about, aching to know what all this madness was. She calmed to see Lothiriel, and the Princess mounted swiftly, leading her mount quickly out into the burning level of the City.  
  
"Take not all." Imrahil called, "The rest shall wait until due time they are needed...Imrahir! Lead them!"  
  
There was little time to wonder over. Before Lothiriel knew it, she was flanking Imrahir, along with her brother, leading a third of Imrahil's men out to meet the Rohirrim. Edemer looked at her, his eyes no longer lost, no longer a little boy's...they flashed with excitement, the excitement of battle. "They'll not take us yet, eh Lothy?"  
  
"Never!" She cried, a surge of energy rising in her chest. And as the Rohirrim met their enemy from without, the Swan-Knights met them from within, pouring from the Gate...  
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Eomer could not help the swell of pride and energy that surged in his blood, as he rode flanking his Uncle. The Lords of Rohan and The Golden Hall, leading the Rohirrim into battle against their most terrible foe. As his sword cleared it's way through the foul sea, his voice joined those of his men in song. Gondor would not fall, not while they had strength to defend it.  
  
He paused to look up, to see Theoden fighting with as much vigor and fire as any of his younger men. Eomer was glad at that, and though their enemy was thick, the Rohirrim's spirit was thicker.  
  
He then saw a company tearing though the mass of fell ones that were crowding all around the Gate, making to join them on the field. The Swan-Knights of Dol Amroth, he realized by their armor and flying blue banners. And did his eyes mistake him, or was that a green standard of Rohan he saw among them? His blade cut into the enemy once more, before he glanced up again. Even more puzzling, did The Prince of The Seaside Halls now send women to battle?  
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She wore no helmet, it had long been lost whilst trying to quell the fires that burned in the City. She also did not look her fairest, her dark hair wild and her face dirtied. But Lothiriel did not care if she looked the part of a great Lord's daughter. Her kin had arrived, and she still had her blade and her hope, and she would fight.  
  
The enemy drew back from the Swan-Knights for a time, and Lothiriel looked about, wary of when they would return to them. She glanced at Imrahir, who did not hesitate in leading them forward, nearer to King Theoden's host. The two forces joined without a word, as the enemy pressed nearer, only to be hewn away.  
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"A woman fights among the Company of Dol Amroth?" Lothiriel heard a voice to her side speak, and she turned when she was able, to see a solder of Rohan addressing her even as he was fighting, his helm hiding much of his face. Behind him rode another, a Halfling, which would have surprised Lothiriel were her nerves not already working at their fullest.  
"She does." Lothiriel cried in reply, not caring if her voice was jovial and breathless. Her heart knew no heaviness, not now. "For none could stop her coming, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth would not be left behind."  
"Then I, Dernhelm, commend thee, Lady Lothiriel!" The soldier cried back, his sword now held high in the air to her. Lothiriel felt her spirit soar even higher. Her kinsman had commended her... .  
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She looked to see Edemer, but he was no longer at her side. No, he had found another to fight beside. Lothiriel smiled. Yes, in the midst of battle and death she smiled, for she had turned in time to see her brother clasp shoulders with the Lord who rode at King Theoden's side...there was only one who would recognize Edemer, son of Eodier and his standard, and that was he who was the son of Eomund.  
  
"I greet you, Edemer Son of Eodier, and friend." Eomer cried, above the din of battle, and Edemer smiled.  
"And I you, Eomer Son of Eomund, and friend." He replied, and the two suddenly seemed as boyhood friends meeting for the first time in years.  
"Now let us draw swords together!" And they did, their horses close, their swords held high, and all seemed that it would go in the host's favor...  
  
And then came the horrid and angry cries from above. The Ringwraiths were not done with them yet...  
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Try as Lothiriel might to calm her, Bela went mad. The shrieking, cursing beasts upon which the Nazgul rode sent the horses rearing, and while Theoden King called out for his men to be strong in the face of evil, many a rider was thrown, Lothiriel among them.  
  
"BELA!" She cried, but her steed simply ran, thrashing wildly, to be lost in the dust and smoke. Lothiriel leapt up quickly, lest she be trampled by other fleeing mounts, some still with their riders upon them. The orcs and fell men took this time to descend upon Rohan more boldly, but Lothiriel stood strong, seeing her brother and cousin still standing firm and hail. The blackness surrounded them to all sides, driving them apart, yet still they fought on, unable to stop, for to stop would be to die. Lothiriel grit her teeth as a blade nicked the temple of her uncovered head. "I have lost hope once this day." She rasped to herself, her blade tearing into the evil flesh around her. "I will not again!"  
  
But again, they were met with ill fate. The Lord of The Nazgul was still among them, a terrible being, and the Rohirrim cried out as he descended upon their King, who had been among the thrown. The Black Lord and his winged beast meant to finish the fallen King, and none could make it to his aid in time...save Dernhelm.  
  
Lothiriel did not see it clearly, but she saw enough as she helped drive the forces back, away from fallen Theoden and the Dark One. She saw Dernhelm, saw him rush between the Witch King and the King of Rohan, one soldier standing, as the Halfling bent by the King, sword and shield drawn and stance proud.  
  
"Thou fool! No living man may hinder me!" The words proclaimed by Lord of the Nazgul echoed over the battlefield, rumbled in the ears of all who heard. But Dernhelm laughed, in a voice like cold steel, and Lothiriel looked up to see the helm fall, the long golden tresses fly freely in the face of a woman, a woman with eyes grey as the sea.  
  
"But no living man am I!" She cried, "I am Eowyn, Eomund's daughter! You stand between me and my lord and kin. Be gone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you if you touch him!"  
  
All were amazed who saw; from the brave Halfling who accompanied the woman to the Rohirrim to Lothiriel, who tried not to gape lest she lose her footing and fall to the enemy. But none were as shocked and unsure as The Witch King, whose mount screamed while he himself was silent in doubt.  
  
And then he was upon her, his mount tearing at her with claws and beak like razors. But Eowyn stood fast, and with a swift stroke cleft the beast's head from it's neck, and it came crashing to the earth in a blackened bloody heap. The Black Rider rose from it, rage burning where his eyes should have been. He swung his mace, and it shattered the shield Eowyn held aloft, breaking the arm that held it. She fell to her knees, and The Dark One made to finish her...  
  
But He too stumbled, with a great shout. For the Hobbit that had been Eowyn's companion had come up behind him, and driven his sword into the Witch King's back. "Eowyn!" He cried, and with her last strength she rose to drive her sword between crown and mantle.  
  
A great cry, a shriek never heard in any world rose, and Eowyn's sword broke into a thousand pieces, a great black cloud rising from where The Witch King had stood to be swallowed up by the air and never seen again...  
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Moved by an instinct she did not understand, Lothiriel broke away from the fighting and ran to the side of Eowyn. The Hobbit seemed torn between the golden haired Lady and the King, but when he saw Lothiriel kneel beside Eowyn, he seemed to be able to leave her to go to Theoden, tears standing in his wide eyes.  
"You fought bravely." Lothiriel heard herself whisper to him as he turned away, and he seemed to take heart.  
  
She looked back down at Eowyn, taking her head into her lap. "Lady Eowyn?" She tried, gazing into eyes that were reeling, blue-grey eyes becoming paler, almost white. Lothiriel shut her eyes, embracing her. She had not known her for but an hour at best, and then as a man she was not, but she could not bear to see this woman die. Another woman who had obviously defied convention and order to come here, to fight with and for her people and in doing so, defeating the Black Captain. Lothiriel willed strength to her, prayed to be able to give some life into her...  
  
But when she looked again, Eowyn had gone entirely still, as if death had taken her. The Princess felt tears in her eyes, and in grief she looked about...to see her brother and the son of Eomund standing over Theoden, as he named this Eomer his heir and took his final breath. The Rohirrim cried out in sorrow at the loss of him, yet Eomer bid them not to grieve, for he had died brave and strong. "We shall honor those who have fallen and have them taken from the field..."  
  
And it was then he turned, and saw Lothiriel, saw his sister lying in her arms, stilled and pale in death...  
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_ Lothiriel had a vague memory that lurked, deep and hidden within her heart and never brought to the surface, not since the day it had occurred.  
  
She had been nearly five years old, and awaiting the arrival of a new brother or sister...a midwife had come, in the middle of the night, and she and her older brother and father had waited in the summer night as Lethemine pained to give birth inside. There was a long cry, and then silence. Confusion, frustration.... and then the midwife was speaking, words that little Lothiriel did not want to understand...  
  
'The...the child.... the boy was born dead. And his mother will not last long.'  
  
No, Lothiriel did not remember it very clearly, but what was branded on her memory was her father's face. Profound loss, shock, looking as if his heart had been suddenly torn from his chest...._.  
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It was the same look on the face before her, the tall Rohirrim Lord who stood above her, mouth agape as if wishing to cry out, but his spirit was too pained to do so. And then he fell to his knees before her, grasping Eowyn's hands in his own, as bitter tears fell from his eyes.  
"Eowyn! Eowyn!" He cried, "Eowyn how came you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, Death, Death take us all!" He brought her cold hands to his lips, as a shudder went through him...  
  
"I will take her to the city." Lothiriel whispered after a long moment, and Eomer raised his face to look at her. Her heart lurched...such loss...such pain...  
"See that she is cared for." He breathed, as he tried to chase all sorrow from his face.  
  
And then he rose, as if taken by his own emotion, and leapt onto his mount. He spurred headlong back into they fray, horn raised to his lips and then crying aloud, "Death! We ride to ruin and the World's Ending!" And the Rohirrim followed.  
  
From across the Pelennor Fields, Edemer looked at his sister as if in indecision. "Ride!" She shouted simply, and he turned and did so, to Eomer's side. Into the evil horde they rode, lead by a young King who had seen the last of his family die in an instant...  
  
No living being had ever more deserved the slaughter they received then those who died under the King of Rohan's blade that dark day...  
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Was I the only one highly dissapointed that the scene of Theoden naming Eomer his heir was not in the movie? Here's hoping it'll be in the extended cut...hehe  
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	12. Morning Smiles

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When Imrahil saw his niece return to the City, helping to bear the body of Eowyn, he gasped.  
"Have the women of Rohan come to our aid as well?" He cried, but Lothiriel shook her head.  
"Nay, only one." She smiled wistfully, sadly, "She is The Lady Eowyn, sister to Eomer King, they knew not of her riding."  
"So beautiful, she is..." He sighed sadly, bending to look on her...and then his face changed, he frowned, touching her face. He suddenly looked alarmed. "Lothiriel, she is not dead!" He looked to the other bearers, "Her breath lingers still! Hasten to bring her to the healers!"  
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Lothiriel felt hope surge within her, and she hurried to do so...then realized her Uncle was making for the Gate.  
"The rest of the army rides, Lothy!" He called, and she nodded. Then she turned, hurrying to bring Eowyn to the Houses of Healing, as rain began to fall around her, and the fires of the City were at last quelled ...  
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Upon lying Eowyn on her bed in the Houses of Healing, Lothiriel realized, with a glad cry, that her cousin Faramir still lived also. She hurried to kneel at his side on the other bed in the room, and though he was fevered and warm, he drew breath still.  
  
"We are skilled in healing..." A tired female voice said, and the princess looked up to see an elderly woman looking down at him, her arms filled with bloodied rags from tending the wounded. Ioreth she was, Lothiriel remembered. "But this fever is beyond us." Ioreth then looked upon Lothiriel. "By the Valar child, were you not wearing a helmet out there?!"  
  
Lothiriel touched her temple, and winced. "It's nothing..."  
"I'll say when it is nothing." Ioreth said firmly, but Lothiriel shook her head.  
"Tend my cousin and the Lady Eowyn, they are far worse then I."  
"Princess Lothiriel, I have seen more men then I could count die today, it would be a welcome chance to mend a scratch." Ioreth maintained, "And if you ignore that black-rimmed tear, you may just come to the same fate as your cousin has."  
  
Lothiriel gulped, then nodded. Ioreth dropped her basket of herbs and rags on the floor, and sat on the edge of Faramir's bed before Lothiriel. Dipping a clean rag into the basin beside the bed, the healer cleaned the small wound, and with a hiss Lothiriel realized how painfully it stung, almost burned. "Black Poison." Ioreth nodded, "You're lucky this is just a small cut, Lady Lothiriel. It has only barely entered your blood." She took out a small knife, and Lothiriel winced as she cut away the tiny black edges around the wound. "There." Ioreth sighed, pressing a new clean rag to the wound. "Keep that there for a few moments, and the bleeding will be stopped."  
  
"Thank you." Lothiriel whispered, looking back at her cousin, and then, to the Lady Eowyn. Ioreth dipped her head.  
  
"You are a brave woman." The healer told her, "It would be good for you to take some rest now, for I know you have not slept for some time."  
  
"No." she shook her head, "No I do want to leave them yet..."  
  
Ioreth nodded. "Well, at least clean yourself up a little, I promise that you'll feel refreshed." And then the healer was looking up, as the doors in the lower level of the Healing House opened to let in more wounded and dying. "I must go..."  
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Lothiriel did do as the healer suggested, removing her armor and washing her face and hands and hair. She found a clean, simple pale blue healer's gown to replace her own battle stained men's clothes, though she kept her boots on under it. Through the morning, she went between Faramir and Eowyn, bathing her cousin's burning face or holding the Lady's hand, wishing for any sign of life other then the faint breath that stirred within her. It was Lothiriel who, under Ioreth's eye, wrapped Eowyn's broken arm, the Princess wanting to make herself of use even if she was not on the Battlefield. She would care for Eowyn, as was Eomer's request of her...  
  
Eventually Eowyn's Hobbit companion...Merry...was brought in by the Wizard and Pippin, and he too came into Lothiriel's care, as Ioreth's other women were tending the wounded of Gondor and Rohan below.  
  
Despite herself, Lothiriel did fall asleep once...she was holding vigil by Eowyn at the midmorning hour, when weariness overcame her and her eyes shut to rest...  
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_ "Lothy..."  
  
Lothiriel looked about, to see herself on the battlefield...but it felt as if it were a million miles away, and none were aware of her.  
  
"Lothy." She looked up, to see...her mother. Standing on the walls of Minas Tirith, looking down toward the River Anduin, Lethemine spoke to her daughter with a soft smile on her face. "Look at your brother, Lothy."  
  
Lothiriel looked. The Rohirrim were all but being thrown, but at the King's side Edemer stood fast. While Eomer let out madness upon the foe, Edemer was calm, watching the King of Rohan's back and smoothly taking out whoever came his way.  
"So like his father." Lethemine sighed, still smiling.  
  
"Mother..." Lothiriel breathed, "Look at the enemy...he will fall, for certain."  
Lethemine looked back to her daughter, blinking kind, wise grey eyes. "Oh Lothy...your father told you to give them up...both of them." She reminded her, "He told you to have faith."  
  
Both of them? At that moment, Lothiriel was aware of shouts in the distance. She looked to the river, in time to see black sails...  
"Don't be afraid..." Lethemine said, "Aid comes...this battle will soon be won, Lothiriel."_.  
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She woke up with a sharp gasp, at the commotion and shouting outside of the Houses. "The Corsairs of Umbar!" Those outside shouted, "The Corsairs are upon us! It is the last stroke of doom!"  
  
Lothiriel jumped up, running from the room, down the stairs and out into the terrible sunshine of the fourth level. All before her the battlefield lay out, red and black and green. The Anduin was a foam of blood, and the Armies of Mordor had divided her Uncle's Men from those of Eomer, and seemed ready to take all.  
  
Fleets of ships were sailing to Gondor, black-sailed and imposing. Lothiriel looked about in confusion, as men of The City frantically ran to ring the bells and sound their horns for the armies to return to the walls, for this was surely the end. Their warnings were useless though, for wind granted the ships speed.  
  
"Aid comes..." The Princess heard herself murmur, and gasped. "No!" She cried out, "No, they are no foe!"  
  
And at that very moment, the Ship's standard was unfurled, and it bore the White Tree upon it. Wreathed in the Seven Stars of Elendil. And it was that a great army of men poured forth from the ships, and she could see the Swan-Knights and the Rohirrim once again regroup and ride back into the fray. A cheer went up from the City, and Lothiriel felt her heart soar....  
  
"Well, get thee back inside Lothiriel!" Ioreth's voice reached her then, "If this be our great hour, we'll need all the help we can find within these Houses!"  
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Indeed, the wounded were many, but all of them brought stories of great hope. They told of the dark-haired Dunedain captain who had come from the river, from whom all enemies fled. He who fought at the side of The King of Rohan and the Prince of Dol Amroth.  
  
Though no healer, The Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth became errand girl, bringing water, herbs, and washing the wounds of those who had not been hurt gravely but were still too injured to fight. From midmorning into the afternoon she worked, but did not tire for the excitement and promise of victory lightened her steps.  
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Nearing sunset, she ran back upstairs to see to her cousin, the Lady and the Hobbit. Faramir's pale and fevered face pained her still, and she bathed it in cool water once more, for it was all any were able to do. Eowyn was much the same as she had been; while Merry was much more lucid, able to eat a little even. He asked for news of the battle, and she told him what she had heard.  
  
Upon returning downstairs, Ioreth directed her to care for an aging soldier of Gondor. Lothiriel knelt beside where he had been lain against the stone walls, and saw that he'd suffered a blow to the head. There was little bleeding however, so she simply took a cool wet rag to the wound, cleaning it carefully. The soldier looked at her for a while as she did, his eyes glazed slightly under white brows. He looked like one who had seen many a battle, who's face had been hardened by it all...but as he looked at her, that hardness seemed far away under the haze of his wound.  
  
"Finduilas?" He spoke, in a voice that was rasping due to all the foul smoke he had inhaled in battle. Lothiriel started, paused, and looked at him fully. "Lady Finduilas, you needn't bother with me..." The soldier said distantly, his eyes shutting. Lothiriel nodded slowly, going back to her task of washing his wound.  
  
"It is an honor, soldier." She replied, and he chuckled in his state.  
  
"Ah, Denethor needs you far more then I." He sighed, "You should have heard his grumbling on the road from Ithilien! 'No, I'll have no healer but my Finduilas!' I advised him, Orc poison was nothing to wait on! But no, not until he could have you tend his wounds..." Lothiriel gulped, wondering how to respond...but then the soldier shut his eyes to sleep. She smirked slightly. Then she was being called on to bring one of Ioreth's healers fresh water, and she hurried to do so with a sigh, as more wounded were brought in.  
  
Lothiriel chanced a glance out the doors, to the battlefield below, the sun hanging low above it. She felt the breath within her dance, for she could see grass. Bloodstained, trampled, raped by the fires of war, but still...grass it was, not a black sea of hatred. Indeed, the sea was receding, drawing back, and the shore of spring grass could be seen again.  
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"Tiro! El eria e mor..."

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She was standing before the Houses of Healing, as the last pink rays of sunset grasped at the sky above her, stars just barely glancing down at her, and at the nearly still battlefield. To Edemer she was as a star herself, a beacon, the little girl who had pulled his boyhood self from the freezing river so long ago. As he rode with Eomer, Aragorn, Imrahil and Imrahir through the battered Gate, he cried out at seeing her tall form standing above. Dressed all in pale blue, she seemed to glow as the moon newly risen, though in daylight he surely would have seen the toil of the day upon her. But for that moment, for the returning Commanders, she was an angel of light beaconing them back from the horrors of the Pelennor Fields.  
  
As the company rode passed the level, Lothiriel smiled fully, and Edemer jumped from his steed to run and embrace her. "Oh Lothy!" He cried, "Oh you're all right! We've been the victor this day! We've..." He trailed off with a gasp, clutching his chest for a moment.  
"Are you well, Edemer?" Lothiriel's smile faded a bit, as she inspected her tall, strong brother. But no blood of his own was upon him.  
"Yes, very well." He laughed, "I caught a spear earlier in the chest..." He touched a slight dent in his armor, "No wound, just a bruise, but it knocked the breath from me." He smirked, "You know how I am."  
  
"Yes," Lothiriel smiled again, "but you are still well! Come inside, take some water, and tell me of the battle...."  
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The rest of the company moved to go on, Imrahil raising a hand to greet Lothiriel, who waved back with a smile. Aragorn watched all with a thoughtful glance, a very old memory coming up to the surface...  
  
"Tell me, Lord Imrahil, is she your daughter?" He asked, as they went forth. Imrahil smiled, shaking his head.  
"You have made known to me your true name, and so I give you hers." He replied, "Nay she is not my child, rather my niece. She is Lothiriel, daughter of Eodier and Lethemine, and I am most proud to have her as one of my kin."  
  
Eomer, who had not seemed able to take his eyes from the one who had held his sister on the Pelennor Fields, now felt a wave of understanding as she turned to glance at him once more, grey-blue eyes calm and understanding. She did indeed have the build of the Rohirrim, but her face...he'd never seen a face quite so fair, not among any people he'd known. And it seemed to Eomer that she knew something he did not...  
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	13. Winter's End

Things are peaceful...for a time shifty glance but then, we all knew that, lol  
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.Edemer was standing by his sister as she tended to Faramir and Eowyn and Merry, telling her in hushed tones of the battle. He cast his eyes on Eowyn every few moments, shaking his head every time.  
  
"It is hard to believe she lives." He whispered, and Lothiriel nodded.  
  
"She would speak in her dreams now and then, but now she is entirely silent." She nodded to the Hobbit. "And Meriadoc would have me tell him of the battle outside, but now he too has gone silent." She shook her head. "And not a word from Faramir." But Edemer had his gaze fixed on Eowyn, with a bit of wonder.  
  
"All day, King Eomer believed her dead." He murmured, as Lothiriel pulled a blanket up around the Lady, who now shivered even in her deathlike state, as if the room were frigid. "He fought as a man with nothing to lose..." Edemer trailed off as he remembered. Lothiriel bit her lip, worried slightly at the look on her brother's face.  
"You speak as if you admired such."  
"I did." Edemer smirked, still lost in his memories of the battle. "He was fearsome, Lothy. Fearless."  
'Hopeless' Lothiriel wanted to say, but she didn't. She'd seen the young King's eyes as he'd ridden away from her that dawn hour on the fields. Edemer noted her silence, however.  
  
"How fared you this morning, Lothiriel?"  
She gulped, shutting her eyes. Her memories of battle were grand...but before it...Lothiriel opened her mouth to reply, but did not get a chance to speak, as Imrahir was entering the room.  
  
"Lothiriel..." He embraced her, with a soft smile, though Lothiriel could see in his eyes little humor. "It is good to see you well." Imrahir did not seem himself, not at all. He seemed weary yes, but also shaken...disconnected from the world. He glanced at where Faramir lie, and sighed. "Did you not know that Denethor met his end today as well?" He said dully, and Lothiriel gasped. "It is true...dead by his own hand, those in Ecthellion say."  
  
Lothiriel closed her mouth, not quite sure how to feel. She remembered Denethor's eyes as he looked down at her, startled, from the Walls. She remembered the words of the soldier she'd tended...but Imrahir was still speaking, in that tired, empty voice.  
  
"And so, until Faramir wakes, our father has been given command of Gondor."  
  
"From whom?" Lothiriel frowned, and Edemer and Imrahir shared a glance. They seemed to silently debate, then drew Lothiriel nearer to speak.  
"Strider, the stranger who walks with Gandalf the White, the captain of the Dunedain..." Imrahir said quietly, "He is the rightful heir to Gondor's throne, the heir of Isildur. But tell no one! He has not yet deemed it time to be made known to all."  
  
Lothiriel let this rest in her mind slowly. Gondor did not have a King, had not for an Age so the books said. Until now...though, nothing should surprise her any more, she thought wryly, glancing at Merry. And then she turned, as Eowyn made a slight gasp in her sleep, and then was still. Lothiriel knelt at her side, hoping for something more...but no, The Lady Eowyn was silent as ever.  
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.The doors opened again, and the two young Lords and the Lady looked up as Imrahil, Eomer and Gandalf entered, the Dunedain Captain Strider behind them. At the sight of his sister, Eomer strode to her side swiftly, kneeling to look upon her, to hear the breath that still stirred weakly within her.  
  
"How fares she, Lady Lothiriel?" An echoing, commanding voice asked, and Lothiriel looked up to see the Wizard Gandalf addressing her.  
  
"She has not uttered a word since this afternoon." She replied softly, her eyes on the fallen Lady's brother. "It was indeed a welcome sound, she called for you and for one named Theodwyn."  
"Our mother." Eomer nodded, his voice slightly choked as he brushed at his sister's golden hair. His eyes looked up then, sharp blue meeting Lothiriel's soft grey. "Have you watched over her all day, Princess?"  
"I have." Lothiriel nodded. "As you asked me."  
He smiled softly, his gaze lingering on her a moment, before he looked up to Strider, who was inspecting the three wounded closely.  
  
"Here I must put forth all my skill in healing." He said gravely, and Eomer frowned.  
"Surely you must rest Lord, and eat a little before you take on this task?"  
"Nay, for these three..." He nodded to Faramir, "...and most soon Faramir, time is running out. All speed is needed."  
  
"Then you know what medicine they need?" Lothiriel rose, looking at the stranger hopefully, "You know what will heal them? For I have seen them try all."  
Again, an old memory was returning to Aragorn...of a young woman who bid his mother farewell from the City walls... "Yes," he nodded, "I know what they need. Black Breath is indeed upon them."  
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She had not stayed within. Lothiriel had heard that Strider needed as few distractions from his task as was possible, so she stole away from Eowyn, Faramir and Merry. Ioreth...and indeed, all who took a notice to the Princess...had encouraged her to take some rest. But she could not sleep. Edemer and Imrahir surely could and did, collapsing on empty beds right there in the House, but Lothiriel could not. She wanted to know the news of the gravely wounded as soon as it came, or else she wasn't sure if she would be able to sleep at all.  
  
And so she found a place to sit, upon the stairs to the lower levels. The stars hung in a cloudless sky, their light soft and casting gentle shadows on a land that had been so harsh and ravaged looking not too long ago. Now it seemed ethereal, silver and blue and dreamlike.  
  
It did not change her memories, however. Lothiriel shut her eyes tightly as she remembered how the day began...in those moments before dawn. Already, the streets had been cleared of much rubble, but she remembered vividly what littered them before...  
  
Remembered vividly the feel of her sword hitting flesh for the first time before that. Remembered vividly how fearless and strong she'd felt when the Rohirrim had come...such a gambit of emotions to run in the space of maybe twelve hours. And now...she felt as if she was floating in the world, weariness lending her release from feeling the strong, disturbing emotions of before quite so keenly. But she still remembered them.  
  
She did not hear the steps coming up behind her until they were very near. Lothiriel turned her head slightly, and then jumped up when she realized that it was Eomer. Hope lighted her face, as she took him in. Tears had surely been upon his face, but now he smiled.  
"Are they well?" She breathed, "Have the King's hands indeed lifted the fever?"  
  
The King nodded, "Yes, for all three of them." His voice did indeed betray the fact that he had wept at his sister's side, "They sleep now, but Eowyn made me promise to ask you to come and see her in the morning. She heard of how you were by her from the time she fell."  
"Oh be sure of it." Lothiriel laughed, tears now in her eyes, "I will stay by her until she is running again should she ask it of me! And my cousin? He rests peacefully?"  
"Yes, indeed he does." Eomer replied, but he was caught on what her words had been, "Until she were running again?"  
"If she asked it of me." Lothiriel repeated, still laughing slightly, rubbing at her eyes. They were well...it was as if everything that had happened that day was lifting from her spirit. "She was brave, courageous..." She took a breath, "She was braver then I was in the face of the same enemy."  
  
"I believe, Princess Lothiriel, that she was braver then any on that battlefield could have been." Eomer said softly, finding himself take up her hand in his own. "Why did you come here, Lady?" He asked, "I know why my sister was driven to, but you?"  
  
"Maybe for much the same reasons." Lothiriel said softly, "My people, my country...my family." She sighed, "Though Imrahil is my kin, Edemer is all I have left of my family."  
  
"Perhaps that is why my sister came." Eomer murmured, "Not just because she was left behind...but because she watched Theoden and I ride away from her, with a chance of never returning."  
  
"Perhaps." Lothiriel nodded, and they were silent for a time...studying their linked hands, wondering at them, yet enjoying them. It was pleasant not to feel alone, to feel companionship, on the night after such a terrible and dark day...  
  
"Tell me..." Eomer asked after a time, "For I have not gotten to speak very much with your older brother, though I do find that I like him very much. When did Eodier pass?"  
  
Lothiriel looked up at him, the starlight upon her making her seem luminous, lighting the gentle smile on her face. "Eight years ago." She told him, "I was ten, Edemer fourteen. Da's heart gave out on him..." She trailed off, "He told us to go to Dol Amroth, where we would find my mother's family."  
  
"You had no kin in Rohan?"  
  
"Nay." Lothiriel shook her head, "My father was the last of his line, as now Edemer is." She sighed. "Do you...do you remember my father at all?"  
  
Eomer shook his head. "I was barely old enough to walk when he left The Riddermark for the Seaside Halls. I had heard stories of him, obviously...I had always imagined he'd stayed on there, and would return someday." He looked out on the City then, his eyes glazed as if taken by memory. "When my father died, and Eodier did not return when news must have surely reached Dol Amroth, I was sure in my heart that he had died. Or sailed away to some unknown land."  
  
"He was right in Rohan." Lothiriel whispered, "He'd taken a wife and gone to live in the mountains." Eomer turned back to look at her, smiling softly.  
  
"I know that now." He nodded, "He took a bride of The Seaside People..." He took in the face of the girl before him, lit in starlight with hair as dark wood, eyes as the pale mornings over the grassy plains of Rohan... "And most fair she must have been, to have given him such a daughter." The words left him before he could check himself, and the Princess had the grace to smile even as she blushed slightly in the night, looking away from him. And then glancing back up...Lothiriel felt her heart give an unmistakable skip.  
"I thank you." She managed, and Eomer suddenly felt more shaken by her then the armies of Mordor had ever managed. He smiled back.  
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"Now how's that for a pretty sight?" Edemer grinned, glancing out from the doors of the Houses of Healing. No one had been able to stay asleep after the jubilant cries that went up when word was spread that the Lord Faramir would live. Of course he'd gone to see if his sister had heard...only to see her standing in the starlight with the young King of Rohan. At Edemer's side, halfway between sleeping and waking, Imrahir yawned, his eyes still having that odd, glazed look.  
  
"Very pretty." He mumbled.  
  
"Yes," The two were silent for a moment, watching the pair as Lothiriel moved to leave, Eomer pressing a kiss to her fingers.  
  
"So I trust we'll start hounding his steps tomorrow?" Imrahir smirked, showing humor that had been so rare that day. Edemer grinned.  
  
"But of course."  
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Lothiriel woke the next morning early, rising from her bed in Ecthellion and looking out her windows to see the sun upon the city. The walls gleamed white and smooth, save the telltale spots of ash and rubble on the lower level. Still, already the rubble was being cleared, and soldiers milled about white tents on the Pelennor, with a blue sky and gossamer clouds above. It promised to be a fair day.  
  
She turned away then, a soft smile on her face. It faltered only a little for a moment...the enemy was gone...but to what end? She shook her head. Best not to think about it at that very moment.  
  
Pulling her nightshift off over her head, Lothiriel put on a new set of men's clothes she'd managed to steal before she'd gone to bed. She couldn't help smirking...whoever had owned them before her must have been a youth, for they fit her far better then her brother's old castoffs. She braided her hair back now and pinned it up...letting it fly free in the days before hadn't been the smartest move vanity-wise, and the women of Dol Amroth would have fainted dead away at the sight of her beautiful dark hair the previous morning. As it was, Ioreth had had to sheer off a good four inches of her once waist-long mane due to the tangled mess it had still been after she'd washed it.  
  
She pulled on her boots and strapped on her sword, then hurried out down the halls to the stairs that would take her outside. Lothiriel paused before leaving the tower...  
  
Stepping softly into the still throne room, she beheld the seat that had been her Uncle Denethor's perch for so long. Never again...she kissed her fingers, then touched the armrest softly in respectful tribute, a rueful sigh escaping her lips.  
"I'm sorry I did not know you, when she who shared my blood did." She whispered, then turned, and made her way out into the sunshine.  
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Eowyn had been given her own room, one that overlooked the green courtyard the Houses of Healing enclosed. She sat up in her bed now, her arm in a sling and one of the maidservants feeding her breakfast. The Shieldmaiden of Rohan's eyes looked dulled, the light within them faint. As the maidservant was leaving, Lothiriel came to stand in the doorway. She saw Eowyn's gaze drifting out her windows, open to the fair, sunny day as if she were trying to soak in the sunshine, let it drive out what lingering darkness was within her.  
"Lady Eowyn?" Lothiriel asked timidly, and Eowyn turned, a smile swiftly taking over her face.  
"Princess Lothiriel." She said softly, yet warmly. Her voice sounded so weary, her face so fair and yet so pale...as if she'd borne a heavy grief for years between now and the morning when Lothiriel had first seen her. "Come and sit by me, look out on the courtyard."  
  
Lothiriel did so, sitting on the windowsill close beside Eowyn's bed. The Princess smiled...already, Merry was back on his feet. He looked up to see her, and smiled, giving her a wave. Beside him, Pippin looked up too, and did the same. Lothiriel grinned, waving back. "So fair a day, it's hard to believe what happened on the Pelennor Fields was yesterday." She murmured.  
  
"Yes," Eowyn nodded slowly, "to me it feels as though it were years..."  
  
"They told me downstairs not to let you dwell on it." Lothiriel looked back at her with a smirk, "So I tell you not to. Look instead on the blue skies above, at the birds that have returned to their nests to sing for you."  
Eowyn let out a quiet laugh, and smiled. But she did not look out the window, she looked upon Lothiriel's own face.  
"I did not have the time to see it on the battlefield, but my brother speaks the truth." The golden haired Lady of Rohan grinned. "You are indeed fair."  
Lothiriel felt her face blush, and she hid it by looking back outside, though she could not hide her smile.  
  
Eowyn smiled as well, but decided to switch the subject. "I thank you, Princess, for watching after me when I fell."  
"It was my honor, Lady." Lothiriel tipped her head. Eowyn smiled again.  
"Call me by Eowyn, if I may call you by Lothiriel?"  
"Of course." Lothiriel smiled. "We are kindred spirits, you and I."  
"We are." Eowyn nodded, a light returning to her eyes. "We both took up swords when we were told to stay at home and bite our nails." She chuckled. It was a good sign, Lothiriel decided, that she was finding heart to laugh. The black fever would indeed lift fully from her...  
"I believe my aunt, The Lady Deliann was very proud of me for going." Lothiriel said, watching the birds darting back and forth. "It was her armor I wore to battle."  
"You are lucky." Eowyn groaned, "I had to fit myself into a man's armor...too big in some places, far too tight in...others." She smirked, and they both laughed. "I tell you, my arm was not the only part of my body aching when I awoke!"  
  
"Well, even Deliann's armor is a bit snug on me up here." Lothiriel replied, "The Seaside women are so lithe, even those who are allowed to learn to ride and swordplay."  
"You're built like a woman of Rohan." Eowyn noted, and the younger woman started a bit, which she also noted. "Yes, Eomer told me that as well..." Her voice went soft, "That you are the younger child of Eodier."  
Lothiriel nodded. She noticed the flowers in the courtyard below, where the Hobbits were talking, and smiled gently. "And so the children of Eodier have found the children of Eomund."  
"So it would seem. Eomer and Edemer already regard each other as if they'd grown up as boys together." Eowyn laughed, then reached out to take Lothiriel's hand. "I would like for us to be good friends as well."  
"As would I." Lothiriel nodded happily, "So you have seen them together then?"  
"Ah yes. They came in together soon after I awoke this morning."  
"I'm glad." Lothiriel sighed, "We may be brother and sister, but it was harder for Edemer not to feel somewhat isolated in Dol Amroth. For sure, he had friends, but still." She smirked, "All that blonde hair is hard to miss among our mother's people."  
  
"He's most welcome among his father's." Eowyn leaned back on her bed with a sigh. "Oh this gives me hope...seeing the two of you."  
"I'm glad." Lothiriel looked at her warmly, "Please stay in such a mindset...they say it's the only way you'll ever be better."  
"I'll try." Eowyn promised. The two were silent then for a time, letting the warm spring breezes waft in through the windows, carrying with them laughter and the scent of green growing things.  
  
"My brother very much admires you, Lothiriel." Eowyn said after a while, and Lothiriel started. Eowyn grinned. "And though these are strange times for such, he would like to be in your company, when circumstances allow?" The Shieldmaiden of Rohan arched an eyebrow as the Princess of Dol Amroth smiled shyly, that flush creeping back up to her cheeks.  
"Tell him that I would enjoy that as well." She murmured...  
  
"Lady Lothiriel?" Lothiriel looked up, and nearly every thought left her head.  
"How good to see you, Legolas, Elf Friend." Eowyn exclaimed, and the seemingly young man who stood at he door smiled kindly at the Lady of Rohan.  
"And it is good to see you in better health, my Lady." Legolas dipped his head, and Lothiriel was suddenly reminded of her Uncle and cousin...only with hair golden instead of dark, and a countenance unlike any she'd ever seen. Elven-kind. He turned to her then, still smiling. "Princess Lothiriel, Lord Imrahil has bid you join him on the fields, for there is much yet to be discussed."  
"Thank you." Lothiriel smiled back at the handsome Elf, then turned back to Eowyn, rising. "I will see you soon, Eowyn." She embraced her, "May your heart stay lightened."  
  
"Yours as well." Eowyn smiled her farewell, and Lothiriel followed the Elf Prince out into the halls.  
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	14. A Fear In The Dark

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Lothiriel met her Uncle outside of the Houses of Healing, where he stood in the finest garment he'd taken with him, ivory swans embroidered thickly on the front of his deep blue tunic, his helm tucked under his arm. She was aware, strangely, of his height, his grandness, of what a fine noble figure he made. She fancied it must have been her moments at the side of the Elven Prince...she saw the high blood clearly now in her Uncle.  
"Lothy." He smiled, reaching to embrace her. She smiled back, but there were questions in her eyes.  
"Good morning, father." She replied, keeping her tongue for the moment.  
"A good morning it is indeed, to be down by the river, where little sign of war lingers." But he made no move to walk there yet...Lothiriel could see he had something he wished to tell her. She decided to ask herself."The Elven Prince Legolas said that there would be a meeting of commanders today." She said, "To what purpose, though? For though ill, Faramir rests well and shall live, and our enemy has been driven away. What more are we to do here?"Imrahil looked upon her for a time, studying a face that so resembled his sisters, his line...and yet, she had something in her that was not of his blood. Something wild and untamed, he could see. He smiled again, this time a bit sadly it seemed to Lothiriel. "Yes, my sister-daughter, our enemy has left this place." He said softly. "And yet, for how long? This is what the commanders must discuss. For you see, this enemy will not be stopped in his war...it is all he desires."  
  
In an instant, Lothiriel suddenly recalled her very first of the dreams that had come to her since the cloud had come upon them...of standing by her father, on a hill overlooking what she now knew as Rohan, watching it burn in the fires of evil. Of seeing fell things roaming the lands freely, of the Winged Beasts flying unchallenged overhead...  
  
"I understand." She whispered, eyes wide as if a great secret had been told to her. Her land, her family...would never be safe until this was gone for good. "So..." She looked back to Imrahil. "You would let me sit at a counsel of commanders?"  
  
"I would." He replied, nodding. "You have proven yourself these past days, Lothiriel. Proven that you have the spirit to stand among soldiers. You are of my kin, it is only right that you, a soldier of my family, come as well."  
  
Lothiriel grinned up at him, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead...  
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"My Lord?" A hesitant, yet strong voice addressed Imrahil, and Lothiriel felt a pleasant tingle at the sound, unable to stop the smile from spreading on her face. They turned, to see Eomer standing not far away, he too looking to be dressed in his finest, green and gold and white... "Are we to join our Lord Aragorn below?"  
  
"Yes, and let us make haste." Imrahil roused himself to action, smiling softly at Lothiriel as he started walking to the stairs that wove through the levels of the City.  
  
"Might I walk with you there, Lothiriel?" Eomer asked of her, in a voice that betrayed his nervousness, yet with eyes that sparkled with fine humor. She could not help smiling back at him.  
"I would like that very much, my lord." She nodded, taking the arm he offered. She suddenly realized just how odd she must have looked, and found herself giggling.  
"What amuses you, my lady?" Eomer asked with a slight laugh, for her outburst had been so merry. Lothiriel shook her head, in doing so freeing a few wayward curls of her dark hair.  
"Oh it is no great thing." She replied, "I just wonder if you do not find it strange to be walking with a woman dressed as a man."  
"And who wears a well-earned sword at her hip?" He smiled. "I'm honored to walk with such a woman."  
Now Lothiriel smiled softly to herself...he respected her for coming here...  
  
"So, off to the fields, are we?" An overly perky voice said at her other side. She looked...to see Edemer standing quite close to her, with a mischievous grin on his boyish face. "Lovely! I'll walk with the two of you, if you do not mind."  
  
Lothiriel sighed. But could not help a smile, as the King of Rohan started talking merrily with her brother, while taking her hand in his own.  
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And so it was that a Lady of The Seaside Halls sat in war council with the great commanders of the lands of Arda. And though, in the years to come, many a mother would tell her young daughter of the Great War Maiden of Dol Amroth sitting proudly among the heir to Gondor, the King of Rohan, the Sons of Elrond, and The White Wizard, the truth was that Lothiriel felt as an awestruck young girl among the company.  
  
In that war tent, she was granted understanding...that there was one who could overthrow the Dark Lord, and that they would do what they could to buy him the time to do so. More battle...Lothiriel shut her eyes, even as the agreement was made to march upon Mordor in two days time. When they ended their council, she quickly slipped from the tent, to make her way through the encampment of the Lord Aragorn's men and to the river.  
  
She stood there a time, letting the winds there rush over her and pull her hair free of its pins. Arms crossed, feet apart, she stood watching the water rush by.  
  
So this time they would again go looking for war and death, this time a few against so many more. Relying on the tiny chance that a Halfling would make it to the fires of Mordor unscathed. Lothiriel tried to have faith in the powers above; in the powers the Istari Gandalf served. But what if it be in the stars, that their fate was to fall?  
  
She shut her eyes, trying to banish that thought. But it could not be wrong of her to fear.  
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"This river is peaceful." She heard a tired, familiar voice not far away. Lothiriel turned, to see Imrahir on his haunches, watching the water a ways to her right. 'He looks so old...' The thought came to her unchecked, and it worried her. Her cousin was only five and twenty, yet there was a shadow on his face that made him seem so weary.  
  
"Yes..." She murmured in reply. "It has washed away all sign that there was much battle here...unlike others." He looked at her, and she at him, and he had to look away. Tears fell from his eyes, but his face remained stoic, as if no feeling touched them.  
  
"I saw him die, Lothiriel." He said quietly, "I felt shame at leaving his body on the battlefield, and then..." There was a twitch by his eye, "What will I tell Lindenna?" He whispered.  
Lothiriel took the few steps to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Tell her that her father died bravely. It would make her glad to know that much."  
"I could have gone for his body before we retreated..."  
"And be hewn yourself, leaving Lindenna with neither father nor husband?" Lothiriel finished softly, "What is done is done...she will have you to comfort her."  
Imrahir nodded, his mask of weary war shock cracking a bit. "Oh but Lothy, I saw...I saw his face..."  
  
"I know..." Lothiriel choked, remembering herself...but no, she'd banished those images, those memories. Still they came...a man who'd been a young boy playing with her in the fields, now looking at her, the horrid last moments of torture frozen on his face... "We...we will be all right." She said shakily, "Our spirits will be lifted, with time." Oh, but would they?  
"I fear they will be all but buried before this is over, Lothy." Imrahir said, despairingly.  
"Don't speak in such a way!" She scolded, shaking the weight from her shoulders. "We will not fall to hopelessness, Imrahir." She said with conviction, "Not again. We will stand fast!"  
"I will heed you, little one." He breathed, eye drifting up to the heavens. "Ahh, this is all madness though! Do you not find it madness Lothy?"  
  
"Of course." She nodded, also glancing at the deep, blue sky at midmorning. She smirked. "But what else is there for us to do?"  
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Much of that day was spent in preparation. Runners were sent to muster the peoples far apart to come and join the fray, an army to be made up of so many peoples, which should come to so little a number. The wounded in the City were tended, those who were already healthy again taking up their weapons and armor and making ready. The furnaces in the blacksmith shops were set to blazing again, the armories filling with weapons to be fixed, sharpened and cleaned.  
The Rohirrim went out to see if any of the horses they'd lost had survived. When they returned late in the afternoon, they had only a dozen perhaps, some with scrapes, one with ruined legs. But among the healthy handful, there was Bela.  
  
"Bela!" Lothiriel gasped, running from the ruined gate to take the lead of her horse from the tall Rohirrim who lead her. "Oh I knew you'd return to me, my spooked goose of a mount." She grinned, leading her dark brown mare within, up to the royal stables on the third level. "See? I'm forgiving you your foolishness by giving you a comfortable bed tonight." Lothiriel put her in a roomy stall, and did not hesitate in taking up a comb to rid Bela of the brambles and blackness that clung to her coat.  
  
"A mare for a warhorse?" A deep voice asked, and Lothiriel turned, smiling to see Eomer entering the stall beside Bela's to pet the nose of a great white stallion that wore a green saddle blanket of Rohan.  
"Aye." Lothiriel nodded, combing Bela's neck fondly. "She knows to behave herself...or rather she does most of the time." She added ruefully, giving her horse a mock glare. "I cannot blame her for throwing me though...she is not used to battle."  
"I would not think much hurt would be able to make its way to Dol Amroth." Eomer noted, and Lothiriel nodded, with a sigh.  
"No, we do not see much strife." She murmured, stroking Bela's coat gently. "My family is safe there..."  
"And will always be so, if our campaign is successful." Lothiriel smiled again.  
  
"I'd do well to keep that in mind," she replied, her wavering voice betraying some hidden emotion, and she was not aware of as the smile stayed. Eomer, however, took note of it.  
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The Lords dined that night in Ecthellion and Lothiriel was there of course, dressed once more in a gown of pale blue that...she was told...had been the dress Finduilas had always worn on the Eve of Midsummer. It was light and simple, yet fell elegantly from her shoulders and breast. A dress made in Dol Amroth, to be sure.  
  
Though the meal was good, the talk was all of war and battle strategies that would be taken. Soldier or not, Lothiriel found that she was tiring of it. She found herself longing for the dinners in the home of Imrahir and Lindenna of the past summer, when talk was of merry things. But those days now seemed so very, very far away.  
  
And so she did not listen to the talk as she ate, rather let her eyes wander about the white stone walls draped in blue tapestries, around the great table of polished wood they ate upon. She noted the sons of Elrond...Elladan and Elrohir, she remembered. They fascinated her, as did The Prince Legolas. She'd never taken much to the legend that her mother's people had Elven blood far back in their lineage, until now. The way they held themselves, Elrohir especially she noticed, was so very like her father, dark-haired, tall, regal and commanding.  
  
Her gaze drifted then, to the setting across her, where Eomer sat, his great arms upon the table and a pipe in one hand, as he was speaking to Edemer. He caught her eyes, and smiled, and Lothiriel felt herself blush. But then Edemer was asking him a question...asking him what the kingdom of his father was like, away from the mountains. And Lothiriel found herself leaning forward to listen, hungry for such information herself.  
  
She listened with a hand to her neck, Eomer's voice reminding her suddenly of her father's, as he described rolling hills, endless plains, all covered in a waving sea of hazy green grass. He described Edoras, something Eodier had never done, described the Golden Hall in detail, it's flying banners and stone steps and the view that let one gaze over all the kingdom it seemed. Lothiriel felt closer then she ever had to what her father had left behind, had been too filled with grief and sad memories to stay with. A Lord of The Golden Hall, at the side of The Marshal of The Mark, now King. More then ever now, she wanted to see that green country with her own eyes...  
  
"Would that I could see it." Edemer voiced what his sister thought, a gleam in his blue eyes.  
"I would have it be so, Edemer." Eomer assured him, "We will return there together, you and I, when all of this is over and done with."  
The younger man grinned, but Lothiriel felt a sudden shock of realization. Edemer would go to Rohan. Of course it was meant to be so, she'd known that she supposed. By blood, he did have a loyalty to Eomer, friendship or no. Their father had sworn his service to Eomund. But now it had been spoken aloud, and would surely be so. A sigh slipped past her lips. But even as she looked at her smiling brother, joking with the King of Rohan, she knew he would be happy to live in Rohan, to ride at the side of Eomer. But oh how she would miss him...  
  
"But I ask you, Edemer, what of the sea?" Eomer asked merrily, taking a drink of his wine, "Is the land as fair as they say?"  
  
And Edemer proceeded to tell of the land Lothiriel had called home for near half of her life, of the dunes, the waves, the halls open to the sea breezes. Suddenly, she felt a wave of homesickness sweep over her. She missed home...she missed the sand, her bed, the sound of the waves lulling her to sleep. Without a word, she rose, pushing back her chair and making for the doors.  
  
"Lothiriel?" Imrahil called to her, and she turned, forcing a smile. "Are you all right, my dear?"  
"Yes, Uncle, quite well." She managed, "I just need to take some air."  
Imrahil, she could see, did not believe her for a moment, but let her go without another word.  
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next chapter: some of my best fluff EVER, I like to think ;-)  



	15. Solace

  
  
We meet at the lights  
I stare for a while  
the world around disappears  
  
Let me surround you  
my sea to your shore  
let me be the calm you seek  
  
Oh and every time I'm close to you  
there's too much I can't say  
and you just walk away  
  
And I forgot to tell you  
I love you

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Lothiriel hurried outside, taking a deep breath of the cool spring air. The moon hung above, pale and silver, seeming to smile at her. She sighed, wandering toward the gardens that surrounded the tower. She did not know why she was so emotional...or perhaps she did. They were emotions that welled up in her, reactions...she'd killed.  
  
But she shook her head, willing these thoughts away. It was not time...  
  
She found a bench under the trees to sit on, looking up at the clear sky filled with stars. The Princess was reminded of the night before, when Eomer had spoken to her outside of the Houses of Healing. With a soft smile, she reached up to spin one of her dark locks around her finger, wondering, all the while feeling like silly young girl, if she would ever speak with him under the stars again...  
  
"Lothiriel?" As if he'd heard her thoughts, there stood the King of Rohan, looking at her with concerned eyes under the stars. She smiled, nervously. "Your brother was worried for you. Are you well?"  
"My brother fancies he can send the King of Rohan to check after me?" She grinned, yet steered the conversation. "His head must be getting too big for him with all this battle and such, I should send him home to his Aunt to have some respect put in him."  
  
Eomer grinned back, coming to sit beside her. "He did not ask me to." He told her, and she looked down at her hands, smiling softly to herself. "Lothiriel..." He asked again, and she did look up. "Are you well?"  
  
"I..." Her voice wavered, "I...am just homesick, that is all." She said, "Silly, perhaps, but all that my brother spoke of...the sea, the sand, the breeze. I miss it all."  
"Very understandable." Eomer nodded, "He described a place of much beauty...but I sense there is something more, Lady."  
"No..." She shook her head slowly, looking down so that her dark curls curtained her face. "There is nothing more..."  
  
Eomer nodded as well, and in silence looked out on the spring gardens in the night. "Never have I seen battle as we saw it yesterday." He murmured after a time, and Lothiriel felt her back stiffen. "It almost felt as the first time I'd ever drawn a sword against a man, not an orc." He went on. "Ten years ago, it was, and how shaken I was to take his life, though he was an evil Easterling. Still a life cut short...and the first time I saw one of my kin die by the sword. Not by the slow accepting time of old age or even sickness, but by one swift stroke. It seemed to haunt me for days."  
  
Lothiriel felt her shoulders begin to shake at his words...she brought her hands up to cover her face, lest her tears escape their prison of her stubbornness. But then she felt a strong arm upon her shoulders.  
"It is all right to weep." He whispered, tucking her hair from her face with the hand that did not hold her arm, and then drawing her hands away. She looked at him, jaw clenched against the emotions.  
"Not for me." She whispered. "I would seem weak, a weeping woman who should not have been brought into battle."  
"There is only myself to see you." Eomer said, still softly, "And I would never think you weak, Lothy."  
  
And it was those soft, gentle words...his affirmation of his respect for her and the nickname her father had first given her...that broke Lothiriel's resolve. She trembled again, and Eomer drew her to him as she let the tears fall, as she let herself weep. He held her close to his heart, as the pain was eased away.  
"Fenliam was his name..." She heard herself sob, "He was a year younger then even I...and we would play together on the beaches. Would play out the stories of old that were told to us." Another shudder. "When...when the siege began, when they...." He brushed at her hair, as if to tell her he knew. She gulped. "It was his face I saw first." No more words could come to her, only tears, and so Eomer simply held her to him.  
  
"I have never met a soldier with a heart of stone, Lothy." He said, and felt tears stand in his own eyes. "Yes, they grow to understand that death comes with battle, but they never grow cold to it. I..." He wavered only slightly. "I wept for Theoden...and my sister, for I thought her lost as well...all of that day. Even as I shouted orders, as I broke through that sea with an unhindered rage..." He paused. "Tears were shed. Tears for my beloved Lord. For my beloved Sister. It is well that you should weep."  
  
And so she wept, for a time, until she could weep no more. She felt her breath come again, easily, as if the weight that had pressed against her lungs that day were lifted. Now Lothiriel could breath the air of the night, feel the beat of Eomer's heart against her...she was suddenly aware of the scent that clung to him, one familiar and pleasant. Of leathers and the outdoors. She shut her eyes...  
  
"Does my Lady feel better?" He asked in a whisper, and she nodded against him, then lifted her head. His eyes gazed into hers for a time, before she felt a warm flush come to her face, and she looked away, up at the night sky.  
  
"How old were you, when you first drew sword against an enemy?" Lothiriel heard herself asking softly, still gazing up at the skies.  
"I had seen eleven summers." Eomer replied, "My cousin Theodred allowed me to ride at his side when orcs were roaming our boarders."  
"So young..." She gasped, and Eomer nodded.  
"Perhaps it would seem so." He said, "But I was ready. They were no more the monsters from stories to me then...and they still are, now and then." He smiled a bit. "But surely there are much happier memories we can dwell on..."  
Lothiriel smiled...for once, not feeling that she hid anything with it. She just smiled. "Yes, many."  
"What was the manner of your life in Dol Amroth?" He asked, eyes fixed on her lovely face. Her smile widened as she looked up at the sky.  
  
"It was a very happy one, a very beautiful one by the sea and sand and rocks..." She replied, "And filled with love. My brother, my cousin and I, we all referred to each other as siblings, for that was how close we became. They taught me to ride, to fight, to throw a punch..." At that, Eomer's laugh broke into the night, loud and merry.  
"You can throw a punch?"  
"Quite well." She grinned  
"I shall have to watch myself then." He replied, still laughing a bit.  
  
"And what of yours?" She asked, and Eomer sighed.  
  
"It was happy when I was very young..." He told her, "My father, despite the temper and morose spells he was known to have, was a very good man. As was my mother, Theodwyn, a fine lady. I was young, but I remember them both well." His smile faded a bit. "After their death we were raised in Meduseld, and it was rather lonely. Theodred was much older then we were, but Eowyn and I still had each other. But as the years passed and danger grew more frequent, the black cloud ever nearer, Eowyn began to change from a merry little girl to a cold young woman." He sighed again, "Still, we were confidants, she and I. And then after she turned eighteen, she stopped warming to anyone. But I know...when all of this is behind us, she will find joy in the world again."  
  
Lothiriel heard herself suck in her breath...thinking of all the times she had shuddered at the cloud in the East, thanking the stars that she did not live in the lands that bordered Mordor. Now she felt a touch of shame. She had not wanted her brothers to go to war...how would Gondor have faired without The Swan-Knights? They had been the largest army before the Rohirrim had come, and without them Gondor would have been rubble before the Horse Lords had even arrived. Eomer noted the change of her countenance.  
"Lothiriel?" He frowned, but she shook her head, finding herself smiling.  
  
"It is nothing." She sighed, "I was just thinking...that despite what has befallen, what has been lost, how glad I am that my people are here." Her head turned, and her eyes caught his. Spirits meeting, looking at each other from behind the glass, as if they'd seen each other in times long past. "How glad I am to be here."  
  
Eomer reached up, to touch the side of her pale face, a face so like an Elven Lady of legend, but with eyes wild and unruly and sea-colored, as of an untamed mare running over the green grasses he knew so well. She was strong, she was unafraid...and she had stirred his heart like no other ever had, some force inescapable drew him to her.  
  
Lothiriel shut those eyes for a moment at his touch; a hand calloused from riding, and tanned from days on end spent outside. When she opened them again, she saw a face that was defined, framed in gold, eyes intense yet gentle. His was a face so handsome, and so different then those she'd known in Dol Amroth, yet it was a comfort. He was kind, merry, strong...he reminded her of days long past, of fires on winter nights, of long walks in the mountains at springtime...  
  
And so when she felt his lips upon her own, it seemed so very right. It was as if, at the moment their lips met gentle and chaste, they had known one another for all of the Ages before them. That their meeting of hands was in the stars above.  
Lothiriel looked away after a moment, a soft smile on her slightly parted lips, the rose in her pale cheeks no young girl's nervous blushing, but rather a flush of warm life within her. Her heart was light, her eyes dancing, and then shutting as the King of Rohan ran a hand through her dark hair.  
  
"I tell you this..." He whispered, close to her ear, breath stirring her hair. "I had never thought myself a man to have a heart for anything other then riding and battle and country." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and Lothiriel sighed. "Until the day I saw you standing outside of the Houses of Healing, smiling at me as if to say all would be well." He took a breath. "And I believed those unspoken words, that flew from your gaze, before I even knew my sister lived. As if you were a friend to my soul, and it could trust whatever yours told it. I tell you, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, that I love you."  
  
Lothiriel was amazed she found the air to reply. "And I you." She heard herself say, knowing with all of her heart that it was true. And then she was being drawn to him again; in a fierce kiss that took what breath she had away. She might have been frightened, were it anyone else. But no... though her lips had been chaste before that night, she knew him. Somehow, she knew him. Lothiriel reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck, brushing at his long golden hair...  
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Eowyn was just waking, eyes opening slowly from a dreamless sleep. The light in her room was the new light of morning, and she smiled softly. She still felt so very tired and weary of heart...but that light was a comfort. Turning her head away from the window, she beheld her brother sitting not far from her, but with his somewhat troubled gaze fixed on his hands.  
  
"Eomer?" She asked softly, frowning. He looked up at her with a start, then quickly smiled.  
"Are you well this morning, sister?" He asked, taking her hand fondly. Eowyn smiled, nodding.  
"My body feels so limp and useless, but yes, I am fine." Her smile dropped. "Are you well, brother?"  
"I am..." He paused, lines crossing his face, and Eowyn squeezed his hand. He went on in a whisper..."She would stay here, if you asked her to Eowyn. She has sworn loyalty to you and..."  
"Oh brother..." Eowyn's voice was tender, suddenly understanding. "You know I could not do that. Lothiriel wants to ride with her kin. She does what I cannot."  
"I know." He sighed, clenching the hand that did not hold his sister's hand into a fist. "It is what I admire her for, and yet...suddenly the thought of her riding with us tomorrow, into death and fire..."  
  
"And you think it will be any easier for her to see you go?" His sister asked, still softly. "Why is it that men seem to think the death of a woman more of a tragedy then the death of a man? Because you are meant to be our protectors? Of course, that is what you are, but so the women are the protectors of the home while the man fights in war. You and I should know this well, for we have grown up in a land where all must carry a blade. If you truly care for this woman, brother, let her ride with you. Let your fate be shared."  
  
"Your words are wisdom, sister." He nodded, and then cast his glance out the window. "Still...the thought of what might happen to her haunts me."  
"As the thought of what might happen to you haunts her, I am sure." Eowyn said tenderly. "She is well suited to you, Eomer. She has your noble heart."  
"Would that I could guard it better." He sighed.  
"Well, we shall pray that there will be plenty of time for that when this is over."  
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The little boy was running, running as fast as his small legs could carry him. It always seemed he was running from something, to somewhere...but this time, he just could not find what he was looking for. However, he did know what chased him. With a cry, the sound of his small feet on the stone hall was cut off as he went tumbling to the ground.  
Pinned down by a weight nearly twice his own, the little boy tried to breathe, as a childish laughter reached his ears from above. With a fierce little glare, the boy pushed his pursuer off of him.  
'You know da said to stop doing that, Boromir!' Faramir shouted, looking down at his scratched knees while he bit his lip. He did not cry, though he wanted to. Only babies cried, and he was a big boy of five.  
'It was only in fun!' Boromir grinned, reaching out to muss his little brother's dark curls. 'You'll be needing to learn how to fight someday...' His eyes widened though, when he noticed his brother's knees, which were bleeding a bit through Faramir's little leggins. 'Why, I really did hurt you! I'm sorry, brother.' He grabbed his brother by the hand. 'Come along, we'll go see mama, she'll take care of you.'  
  
As they hurried along, Faramir grinned a little. For all his rough games, Boromir truly was a good brother. They hurried through the halls; laid out like a labyrinth and yet the boys knew their way through them by heart. In only a matter of minutes, they were outside of their mother's rooms. But the two boys stopped, wary, for others were by their mother's door as well. Faramir recognized a few of them, save the old man who wore a long grey cloak.  
After a moment, Denethor came from the room, his face grim. He said some words, but they were a blur to Faramir. He looked to his brother...Boromir's face had gone dead pale, his feet frozen in place it seemed. Faramir remembered turning, and running away...away from what they were saying....he wanted his mother. He wanted her to make everything alright....  
  
His vision was coming blurry and chaotic, sounds and colors and a raging pain in his head. But there was one sound that was steady, calm, simple. A voice singing. Faramir blinked, slowly letting the world come into focus. He could not remember much, could not say what had brought him there...but the song he knew. It was simple, of herbs and waves and air, the moon at harvest time...a face came into view, a profile, sitting at his side, tending a wound he felt in his arm.  
  
"...Mother?"  
  
Lothiriel looked up with a start, and then let out a relieved sigh. She smiled. "You're awake."  
"My mother used to sing that song." Faramir murmured, shutting his eyes. "What day is it, Lothy?  
"It is the 17th of March, and the battle is over and won, for a time." She replied, finishing her rewrapping of his wound from the black dart. "This wound was close to your heart...there is much luck with you, cousin."  
"I remember...we were riding..."  
"Yes," Lothiriel nodded, "a Wraith's dart caught you here..." She touched the wound. "Imrahil carried you back to the city..."  
"The Rohirrim? Did they come?" Faramir tried to sit up, as the memory of the battle came upon him full force.  
"Yes," She smiled. "As did friends from the North. The enemy was driven away."  
He settled back into his pillows with a long sigh, shutting his eyes. "The battle is won...for a time." He repeated, then opened his eyes, looking at his cousin. She looked down, busying herself with the herbs and bandage scraps in her lap.  
"We march on Mordor on the morrow." She said quietly. Faramir's eyes went wide... "My uncle has had leadership in the city..." She went on briskly, "For the time you are yet ill."  
"Yes, as I would wish it." Faramir mumbled distractedly. Pieces started to fit together in his head...the hobbits...the battle...he winced. His head still hurt. A dizzy spell fell upon him.  
"Rest, cousin." Lothiriel smiled at him. He forced one back.  
"You look very weary yourself, Lothy." He noted.  
"I'll be just fine." She smiled wider. "You need your sleep. Need to dwell on pleasant things."  
"It will be hard to do so, knowing you will all be riding out without me..." Faramir sighed, and Lothiriel let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes.  
"You men and your love of battle." She grumbled, gathering her things and rising to go. Faramir felt a touch of surprise at the harshness of her reaction. But just as suddenly as she'd given oath, she gave him a brilliant smile. "I'll be sure to see you later today. Perhaps then you'll be clearer of head and of battle matters, and may speak with Imrahil." Without waiting for reply, she was at the doorway and out the hall.  
Faramir felt the dizziness upon him again, very sharply.  
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In the evening of that day, the eve of the Host's march, Eomer was walking through the Houses of Healing, to see how his wounded men fared. Many of then brightened at the sight of their young king, pledging loyalty anew and to be well enough to march with him the next morning. And thought these words made Eomer's heart swell, they also drove nails through it. Only two days before, they had said the same to Theoden. Theoden! Just barely returned to them from Grima's hold, only to be taken from them two weeks later! But Theoden had died honorably...he should not be mourned so.  
  
Eomer was about to leave the houses, when he heard a sweet, familiar laugh from within. He turned, to see Lothiriel, kneeling by the bed of an aged soldier of Gondor. He was a great big man, but at the same time he looked much older then most of those who had fought, his beard and hair touched by much frost. He was telling the princess some story, which had a soft smile on Lothiriel's face.  
As if sensing him watching her, she looked up to meet Eomer's eyes, and she smiled wider. The old soldier saw this, touched her hand, and bade her go.  
  
"My lady..." Eomer smiled as she came to his side, unbinding her long hair that had been up all day as she'd tended wounded. He took up her hand and kissed it, keeping hold of it as they stepped outside.  
"My lord..." She grinned.  
"How fare they all?"  
"Oh most are well, a few will be up and ready tomorrow, they just need rest." Then she shook her head... "But there are those who are still gravely hurt..." She laughed then, slightly. "And not to shed a bad light on Gondor, for they do not like being bedridden, but the Rohirrim are most adamant that they all be up and riding tomorrow! They do not want to disappoint their king!"  
"We're a stubborn people." Eomer laughed as well, but again, he felt a slight pain. Theoden had deserved such loyalty...as if she could read his thoughts, Lothiriel held his hand tighter.  
"And they are right to be so, for they have a most admirable king." She told him, as they made their way toward Ecthellion. Eomer smiled at her...then noticed she had stopped, studying the tower with a faraway look in her eye.  
"Lothiriel?"  
  
She shook her head. "I was just thinking..." she said. "An aunt I never knew was Queen of this city. Oh I know she was not really a Queen, but as close as Gondor ever had to one since the days of Isildur." Lothiriel sighed. "And she lost all hope and joy in this place, all alone except for two little boys who could not help her." She looked back up at Eomer. "That soldier I was speaking to, when you saw me...he knew Finduilas. In his fever from the battle two days ago, he thought I was her." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I mean by all this except...I share her blood. What if I should have the same fate?"  
"You won't." Eomer told her, pulling her toward the doors of the palace. "You keep your hope." He smiled as they went inside, then paused. "And you're not alone." His words were met well. Lothiriel smiled broadly. Eomer looked ready to say something else as well...he looked at her, taking both of her hands in his, worry seeming to take hold of his face...Lothiriel pulled him toward her until she could drop her forehead against his chest.  
"I know what you would say." She whispered, shutting her eyes. "But do not yet...for tomorrow there will be the toil, but this evening, there will be nothing but talk of good things."  
Eomer nodded. "Tomorrow then." He pulled away, kissing her once, then smiling softly, pulling her along through the halls once more.  
  
And so they made their way to the dining hall. She saw her Uncle, her cousin...her brother. No, she was not alone. But though the talk was indeed of good things...of riding and hunting and of land and families, and though Lothiriel had new strength to draw upon within herself, nothing could keep her from being afraid...  
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	16. Harbinger To Amen

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She sat on a hill, overlooking a wide plain with long green grasses swaying peacefully under a clear blue sky. Looking down, she realized she wore armor, but not her aunt's. It was made for her, of leather and fine metals knotted and beautiful, and she was wearing it over a soft, grayish green gown that seemed to melt into the grass. She felt at rest.  
  
'Are you happy?' a voice asked. She looked up...to see her father sitting down beside her, looking far older then he had when he died, but still strong and hail and proud. Lothiriel nodded.  
  
'Yes...I am very happy.'  
  
'I'm glad.'  
  
They sat in silence for a time, as the wind blew and the grasses swayed and all was well with the world.  
  
'Why do you show me this?' Lothiriel asked at last. Eodier smiled.  
  
'Because you once had a dream of what would happen if evil were not challenged.' He reminded her, 'And now you have one of what will never happen if evil is not challenged.'  
  
Suddenly, Lothiriel felt a slight weight on her brow. She reached up, and her breath caught to feel gold there, twisted in delicate knots. 'Father...'  
  
'You must give them both up, Lothy.' Eodier stated tenderly, reaching out to touch his daughter's face. He smiled. 'You've grown so beautiful and strong...but you have to trust the powers in this world, the great One that works for the good of all.'  
  
'I won't falter...' Lothiriel managed. 'I give them both up...Edemer...and Eomer.'  
  
Eodier smiled, embracing her. After a moment, he pulled away, and they looked out on the grasses together for a long while, until the sun was dropping from the clear sky, and stars stepped out to greet them..._  
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Lothiriel's eyes opened softly, to be greeted by the dark of her room in Ecthellion. She sat up, looking out at the stars that hung in the mild spring night through her open window.  
Then she drew up her knees under her blankets and shift, wrapped her arms about them, dropped her head, and wept quietly.  
  
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The day dawned clear, save that ever-looming blackness in the East. It was almost like a wound in a sky that was the color of a gem, a black rimmed red tear. A poisoned wound.  
  
Dawn had barely broken, and already Lothiriel was up and looking to the fields where Lord Aragorn's men were taking down their tents and readying to march. Looking about, she could see many soldiers of Gondor and Rohan rousing and making for the grass below. In her gleaming armor, her cape embroidered with swans, new helm tucked under her arm she looked the noble soldier. But she did not go to join her Uncle's men. She waited...  
  
...until she heard the footfall at her side, a tall shadow. She smiled softly...there weren't many men quite that much taller then she.  
  
"I would have you stay here," Eomer said softly, "I would have you stay with my sister and your kin and not see another hour of battle in this life."  
"I know." She whispered back, turning her face to look on him, on his face caught by the rising sun, his hair caught by the fleeting wind. She smiled wistfully up at him, all the while feeling a lump in her throat. "But I also know you would not stop me."  
"I wouldn't." It was Eomer's turn to smile at her, reaching down to run his hand along the side of her face. "I would let you share my fate, should it come to such."  
  
"Then we understand each other." She managed, before she had to shut her eyes...oh that it would not come to that! Oh that the end they would come to would be well! But they could not know...they could only hope, and trust in what they had in that moment, when their eyes returned to each other...  
  
They drew together, lips meeting, royal crests and armor and titles melding for a brief matter of moments before Ecthellion, before the host on the fields below. Eomer then drew Lothiriel to him, shutting his eyes as if unable to face the single tear in the sky.  
  
"After this moment it is best, for honor, that our men see us only as fellow soldiers and leaders of Men." He whispered into her bound dark hair, and she nodded against him. "But know this, Lothy. Should we win this war, and should our shared fate be favorable, I will have it made known that...should my Lady grant it be so...Rohan and Dol Amroth shall see their lands bound with us."  
Lothiriel grinned, then almost laughed against him. "Quite the romantic, aren't you, King of Rohan?" She pulled back, looking up at his now rather worried face, which made her laugh again. Reaching up, she kissed him quickly, now smiling softly. "Your Lady grants it." She whispered. The Lord of Rohan smiled fully, that smile she had loved upon first seeing it, so merry and filled with life even in the face of their doom. He kissed her once more; a kiss that was lingering and bittersweet, for it would be their last while they marched as solders and captains.  
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"Side by side,  
we await the night,  
The Darkest of Them All..."

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The day was cool, the air sweet, when Imrahil's men were assembled, their Prince and his children by the future King of Gondor. A beautiful army they were, if a small one still. The Gondorians and their banners of blue and silver, the Rohirrim and their horses, a brown and green sea. The trumpets blew, and the company left Minas Tirith and it's fine walls, scorched and dented by battle, yet still standing tall.  
  
From her bower Eowyn looked out, to see her countrymen ride away, and she hoped all would be well with them.  
  
From outside the houses of healing, Merry watched his cousin ride with the host, to have his moment of glory on the battlefields.  
  
From inside, Faramir heard their leaving and sighed, wishing to be with them, knowing it could not be, and was left to hope.  
  
And from her place mounted between her cousin and her brother, Lothiriel met the horizon with a head held high, a horizon wreathed in billowing black clouds and raging fire...  
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They passed through Osgiliath, already being rebuilt, with the standard of Gondor on both sides of the river. The men of Gondor took heart at this, and their joy was somewhat infectious to an army with such a gloomy countenance otherwise, as the cries went up 'The Lords of Gondor have returned!'. Lothiriel found herself smiling as they passed through...but looking to her cousin, dark-haired Imrahir riding beside his father, she frowned. His face was drawn, his jaw set, but his eyes...horror had returned there, at the cloud that hung before them. But he said nothing.  
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They passed into the dark edges of Mordor, and all tongues were silenced, all hearts clutched with dread with every step taken forward. The skies became grey and void of color, the land rocky and bare...and silent, motionless as if waiting to pounce. Still, Lothiriel forced herself to hope, though many had given up on such. Many...including Imrahir.  
  
So when they came to the end of the living lands, and Aragorn bid those who were too filled with horror to take another step go, and retake Cair Andros, the heir of Dol Amroth took leave of them.  
  
"I...I cannot go, father." He told Imrahil, shame in his eyes. "I cannot bear the thought of Lindenna losing both father and husband, so I shall go, and help in a task that I know I can return from." He looked around him, at the desolation and barrenness. "There can be no hope in this place."  
  
Imrahil nodded silently, clasping his son's shoulder for a moment. "Then go in peace, my son, and may we see each other again in brighter days."  
Imrahir then turned to Lothiriel, his eyes soft. "Will you not come as well, Lothy? Will you not come for safer lands?"  
She shook her head, resolute, while tears stood in her eyes. "No cousin, my place is here." She managed, "Though I wish you would stay with us."  
  
He said nothing more to her, just shrank away from the road, to join the others who left the company, to go back the way they'd come. But as he passed Eomer's company, he stopped to bid his cousin Edemer farewell, and the two embraced, Edemer then watching sadly as Imrahir left them. It would be the last time the boyhood friends saw each other..  
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And so it was, with a host of less then six thousand, the Captains of The West made their way to The Black Gate of Mordor. The Nazgul could be seen, gathering far and high above, but not a sound was heard, no other living thing was seen, and all were left to wonder.Aragorn set them all in formation upon a hill that overlooked the gate, that gave them a clear view of Mordor. And then he and the captains went forward...Gandalf, Eomer, and Imrahil and also Legolas, Gimli the Dwarf and Pippin, so all enemies of Mordor were represented. As Aragorn shouted their challenge to the seemingly silent gates, Lothiriel with her cousin's standard of Dol Amroth, and Edemer with his of Rohan glanced at one another, and at the soldiers who waited with them. Was there to be nothing? Had all their fears and marching been in vain? But no...In their hearts they still knew. Evil was waiting.  
  
The captains were about to turn, when the gates opened, and it took all that was in Lothiriel not to turn and flee, her Uncle's men surely following her. For though she had seen the Ringwraiths before, these frightened her more...for they were living Men, if only a small number. The soldiers of the West's horses went jittery at seeing the beasts those fell men rode, looking to have come straight from the grave.  
All heard clearly when the leader of that fell company declared himself The Mouth of Sauron, though the rest of his words were lost to them on the strong wind. But they saw the reaction to whatever he said on their captains, and saw him drop a bundle before them, which had Pippin nearly weeping. Gandalf took it up, and it seemed the trading of terms was over. Gandalf pulled aside his grey cloak to reveal the brightness of his being, and The Mouth of Sauron, who had seemed to be mocking and terrible now rode away with a mad cry.  
  
But they barely had time to turn, before great horns sounded, and for the briefest of moments, time seemed to stand still. Lothiriel felt her heart clench, felt her head turn and her eyes find those of her brother. She saw Imrahil below, opening his mouth to shout an order, along with the Man who was to be crowned their King. She saw Eomer looking to the hills, to the gates, to his men...and then to her. Sauron had sprung his trap.  
  
From the gates poured a swirling mass of the enemy, and from the hills behind them came the Easterlings, and from the Morannon came Orcs innumerable. The hill on which The Men of the West were set was surrounded, and Aragorn hardly had time to command them before they met their foe head on.  
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On a winter's day  
I saw the life blood drained away  
a cold wind blows on a windless day  
  
Hear the cry for new life the morning's flame  
you were the brightest light that burned too soon in vain  
who will bring you back from where there's no return  
fear not for you're just dreaming  
  
On a winter's day  
I saw the life blood drained away  
a cold wind blows on a windless day

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Acting on instinct, with a cry Lothiriel led her Uncle's men that had been under her cousin's lead...now her own...to join the bladed ring the Men of The West were making against the tide, to meet the Easterlings, to meet their swords and to meet their jeers with the battle cries of Dol Amroth. She saw the endless sea the enemy made, a company far larger then all the army of the West put together, even if they all had made it this far. But she paid it no heed. The Princess of Dol Amroth defended their Hill, paying no heed to the fact that this was their last stand against the enemy, and that they would not survive. Lothiriel thought of her aunt, and of her cousin's bride, waiting for word, most surely with a child in her arms by now...she thought of Eowyn...she thought of Eomer. She fought.  
  
The elves had their bows to take out the archers who now stood above them on the towers of The Black Gate. The Rohirrim their spears, and Lothiriel her sword. If she looked up, she could see Edemer faithfully at Eomer's side, and she was glad at that, and only that, for nothing else could be well in those moments. The sky was filled now with black and grey and fiery red, and good and bad were together, now Nazgul had great Eagles to contend with, noble cries and deathly shrieks mingling. Trolls joined the enemy, wielding great hammers and clubs, over the black fields that were stained red with the blood of Men.  
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Edemer came to Lothiriel's vision clearly then, for the army was being driven further up the hill, and thus closer together. He was fighting grandly, and looking suddenly so like their father. That was when the Troll came, swinging its great hammer before a spear of Rohan could have it down. Edemer took the stone club squarely in the chest, and above the sounds of battle that crunch of his armor reached Lothiriel's ears like the roaring of thunder. He fell, eyes wide, unable to regain his breath, remembering the feel of icy cold water rushing into his lungs...  
  
An Easterling saw him fall, and drove his sword into him, before Eomer hew the enemy's head from his shoulders with an enraged yell.  
  
"EDEMER!" Lothiriel screamed, falling back from the line, riding to him, seeing his blood stain the ravaged ground on which they fought. The line of the enemy driven back again, Lothiriel dropped to her brother's side, gathering him to her with an anguished cry.  
"Lo...Lothy?" He struggled to speak, and she looked down at him, hopes dashed to see the bloody mess his side had become. "Lothy? Father..." He coughed, "He told me to take care of you...as if I needed telling..."  
Tears thick in her eyes, Lothiriel nodded. "I know..." She sobbed, "And you did, Edemer, you always have...my brother..."  
"No, you took care of me." He grinned weakly, and then his eyes clouded over. "Oh Lothy...you should see it. The grass...it goes on forever...." And then he did not speak again, his breath had left him, his eyes now gazing unseeing, upon the rent sky above.

And so he died, fair and golden and young, in his sister's embrace.

She let out one more cry, burying her face against his chest, where no heart could be heard beating. Until she felt a strong hand on her shoulder, and looked up, to see her betrothed looking down at her, smoke and dirt stained face marked with tears that had now passed, for their fate looked just as grim, their doom upon them. Lothiriel rose, lying her brother down tenderly...and then she took up his standard, the standard of Rohan with the mark of the Shared Sword. She mounted Bela wordlessly, removing the standard of Dol Amroth. Eomer mounted as well, looking at her curiously now. .  
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"A fate shared." She spoke, looking back. "I am the last now, and so I ride this time not as your love, but as your friend." She choked. "Oh Edemer..." She took a breath, "I gave him up...and now we meet our doom together."  
"So it will be." Eomer nodded, reaching to grasp her hand, as the enemy began to press forward. One last long look, and then they turned, diving into the fray once more. .  
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The bloodbath swirled around them, and then suddenly, above, the Nazgul turned and fled into Mordor, as if on great errand. The enemy was halting, as if suddenly unsure and terribly afraid of the Army of The West. It was as if the Will of Sauron had left the battlefield. Stunned, Lothiriel heard the armies shouting in newfound hope, for the Orcs were now fleeing and only a few Easterlings were still pressing them. She heard Dol Amroth, Rohan, the Elves, all with renewed vigor cry out.  
  
"Stand men of the West!" Gandalf cried out, "For this be the hour of doom!"  
  
And with that the ground was rocked, shaking as if in a great earthquake. The Black Gate was thrown down, it's towers as well, and the ground of Mordor behind was rent and torn. From Mount Doom was seen a great cloud of malice and evil rise, and fly toward them in great anger, only to be blown away by the wind.  
  
The Ringbearer had fulfilled his quest.  
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Frodo Baggins opened his eyes, at the sound of soft singing. He was suddenly very aware that he lay on a soft bed, his first in weeks and weeks. The smell of green trees and cool spring mornings reached him, free of fumes and smoke and all fell things he'd known every morning for so long. He opened his eyes.  
  
It was the golden light of early morning, after sunrise yet long before second breakfast. He first saw Sam, sleeping soundly in the bed beside him, a bed made on a ground thick with new green grass. Then he followed the sound of singing, sweet and rather elf-like, reminding him so of merry nights spent in Elrond's House. He saw a woman dressed in a simple grey dress and blue vest, looking as an Elven Lady, though clearly she was mortal.  
  
"You're awake." Lothiriel smiled broadly at him, speaking softly for care of his sleeping companion. Frodo smiled back slightly.  
"I'm not sure..." He said, laboriously, for it was early and his wounds were still great. "This must be a dream...or I have died, and somehow found myself in an afterlife quite like The Shire..."  
"Nay and nay." She replied, putting away the clothes she had been folding and coming to kneel by him. "You are in Ithilien, in the camp of The Lord of Gondor." She checked his bandages that she had put on herself, having come to know a good amount of healing in her time under Ioreth's watch, enough to make the Hobbit comfortable at least. "You were borne here by the Eagle friends of Gandalf." She smiled softly...and it seemed to Frodo, rather sadly. "The war was won because of you, little one."  
He fell back with a bewildered look in his eyes. "We made it...we made it." He shook his head. "How is Sam?"  
"He'll be all right, but he's very tired." She replied, and Frodo smiled.  
"He should be...he practically carried me all the way up that mountain." He settled back into his makeshift bed. "I'll wait for him...my but it's wonderful to be comfortable again!" He shut his eyes, and Lothiriel chuckled, knowing he'd be asleep again soon enough. Quietly, she rose, and left the tent...  
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Slowly, Lothiriel dropped the few thistle flowers she'd found that morning into the Anduin. She looked up, seeing Minas Tirith rising far away in the distance like an ivory pike catching the morning sunshine. Rubbing her arms against the slight chill, her voice spoke softly, a chant of remembering, for her brother, the smiling, golden older brother she had adored. A chant that thanked him for his sacrifice. That spoke of his deeds, of his family...of her love for him.  
  
She felt someone come to stand beside her, saw him drop a flower into the river along with hers. Eomer said something softly, and she knew it to mean a farewell to his friend.  
"His body was lost to the earthquakes and fleeing enemy." Lothiriel said softly. Eomer nodded.  
"Still, in Edoras he shall know a mound among our people." The King of Rohan replied. Lothiriel smiled.  
"Our Father would have been proud to know that." She said, tears now threatening to spill. Eomer took her hand in his own.  
"He would have wanted us to be glad this Day, my Lothy." He whispered, "For we have seen the end of this, and we shall see our children live in a land of peace."  
"Yes,..." Lothiriel thought of her aunts, who had both been filled with dread by the shadow in the East, which no longer hung in the sky. She thought of Imrahir's child, who was waiting for them in Dol Amroth...she thought of two little children from Rohan, who'd struggled and fought their way to the sea and their kin, all alone and unaided. "Yes, he would want us to be glad." She managed a smile, and Eomer pulled her into an embrace, before the Anduin and before the future that awaited them. That they had fought for.  
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	17. Epilogue

  
"There my heart is longing for,  
All for  
The Love of You..."

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It was early afternoon over the plains of Rohan, and a large company from Dol Amroth was making it's way to Edoras. At it's head rode Imrahil, as tall and proud as ever, at his right side rode his son, of a much merrier countenance then was seen on the road to Mordor, so long ago. At the left of Imrahil, rode no one, for it had been his niece's place ever since the fall of his nephew. But for now, Lothiriel, now nearly twenty years old, was making a show of being the traditional maiden of Dol Amroth, on the road to meet her bridegroom.  
  
"Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?" Lothiriel asked wistfully of her aunt, who rode at her side a ways behind Imrahil. Deliann smiled at her niece, whose face was turned to the mild breeze, long dark hair flowing behind her, looking so like an elf lady of old.  
  
"Well, I am more of a sea-lover myself, but yes, it is quite lovely." The Lady of Dol Amroth nodded, gazing out at the swaying green grasses under the midsummer's eve sun.  
"And all to be yours, on the morrow." Lindenna spoke with a smile from Lothiriel's other side, her son riding on her lap, now a year old. "A year of betrothal, and I still cannot get over it. Little Lothy to be a Queen." Lothiriel just shook her head, blushing slightly. "Is it true that King Elessar will come?"  
  
"No, alas." Lothiriel replied. "And he was most distressed that he wouldn't be there to see his friend and ally wed, but the Queen Arwen has entered her confinement...she will be giving birth at any time now."  
"It is well that he is in Minas Tirith then." Deliann nodded. Then she sighed contentedly. "Oh that these days should be such merry ones, fruitful and full of love and goodness."  
"I agree." Lothiriel murmured, smiling softly. Then she let out a gasp as the company came up over a crest, and there was Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld set before them. Imrahil turned in his saddle, after gazing upon the sight for the first time since he was a boy, and looked at his niece with a twinkle in his grey eyes.  
"Well, Lady Lothiriel, what do you think of it?" He called back to her. She smiled broadly.  
"I find I like it quite well, Uncle." She replied.  
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They rode through the gates of Edoras, The Royal Family and their entourage, to much celebration. Soldiers of Rohan flanked the road that went through the city, and women and children called greeting and threw flowers to their future Queen in true merry Midsummer fashion. Lothiriel smiled joyously through it all, though her nerves were all a flutter. Then she looked up, to see Eowyn standing before Meduseld, the golden crowned White Lady of Ithilien smiling down at her, and her fears calmed for a time.  
  
They all of them dismounted before The Golden Hall, Imrahil making a show of helping his niece dismount, smiling as she hurried to embrace Eowyn.  
  
"Did I not tell you I would have her here in time for your wedding, cousin?" A voice behind them spoke with a laugh, and Eowyn turned from their tight embrace to lightly slap Faramir.  
"Don't let him say a word of it, we only barely arrived late this morning." She said, laughing. "Oh Lothiriel, it's been too long since we bid farewell at my wedding! You look well."  
"And you, Eowyn." Lothiriel smiled, taking a deep breath, nerves returning. "How is Eomer?"  
"Absolutely unbearable to live with ever since he realized he would not be seeing you until tomorrow, as is out tradition." She rolled her eyes, and then hugged her soon-to-be sister again. "I am so excited Lothy, you have no idea." She practically giggled, and Lothiriel joined her. "But I am forgetting myself!"  
  
With that, the White Lady of Ithilien turned to Rohan's guests quite composed, yet smiling full still, opening her arms wide. "My brother, King of Rohan bids you all welcome." She said aloud, "In the tradition of our people, the bride and bridegroom do not see each other for the week before the wedding day, and so he is not here to greet you. But he will indeed greet all but his bride tonight. For now come, and take rest in the rooms prepared for you!"  
"Lady Eowyn, your people's hospitality is most welcome and praised." Imrahil replied and bowed most formally, and then he smiled back at his nephew's bride, embracing her briefly. "After last year I did not think there could ever be a better Midsummer time, but now I know there can." He looked at Lothiriel, emotion very free on his face, which was a rare thing indeed. "We shall have fine days all together."  
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Lothiriel was given a comfortable room to refresh in, and she fell upon the fur-spread wooden bed with a glad sigh. She felt as if she could sleep forever after her long road, but she knew she wouldn't like waking in her dusty traveling dress. So she rose after a moment, and just as she was pulling her dress off from over her white shifts, there was a knock on the door.  
"Yes?" She called, and in stepped a young girl of maybe 10 or 11, with bright blonde hair, a warm smile and a large steaming pitcher in her hands.  
"The Lady Eowyn sent me, she thought you might like a bath, my Lady." She gave a little bow, and Lothiriel smiled, thankfully.  
"Yes, I would very much like that." She replied, and the girl smiled wider, and stepped over to a screen in the far right corner of the room from the door.  
As she heard the young girl pour the water into another large basin, Lothiriel brushed out her long hair, staring out at Edoras below her window as she did so. And then the fields of endless grass beyond it...tomorrow, she would be the Queen of it all. The girl was singing softly now, and Lothiriel thought it nice...  
  
"What is your name, young maid?" she asked, turning to look toward the screen.  
"Freda, my Lady, daughter of Morwen." The young girl smiled, stepping from the corner. "Your bath is ready."  
"Thank you very much." Lothiriel sighed, smiling. "I've been riding for so long! Will you help me with the ties of my shift?"  
Freda bounded over to comply, with the oh so very important task of attending her future Queen. Lothiriel turned, and Freda expertly undid the ties, looking at her long dark waves of hair thoughtfully. "Your hair is very pretty my Lady...I mean, I've only ever seen dark hair on the Wild Men..." She shuddered, "But yours...it's beautiful."  
  
"Well, thank you, Freda." Lothiriel replied, pulling off her shift, and stepping behind the screen to slip into the warm water with a contended sigh. "My father was from Rohan, but my mother was from the Seaside Halls, where all the people have fine dark hair."  
"Will you tell me of the sea?" Freda asked excitedly, sitting on the bed. Then quickly sobered. "I'm sorry, you're probably tired and want to rest..."  
"No, it is all right..." Lothiriel smiled softly, shutting her eyes, letting the water soak into her weary bones. "I like to talk about it...the ocean...it is very much like the grass, rolling in waves and waves to meet the sky...."  
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After she'd slept the afternoon away, Lothiriel was roused by her new little handmaiden that evening. She changed into one of the fine blue summer gowns she'd brought with her from Dol Amroth, and let Freda comb out her dark hair to fall freely about her.  
"You look beautiful, my lady." Freda said with wide eyes, and Lothiriel was so moved by the little girl of Rohan that she kissed her brow.  
"Well then, I shall have to let you brush my hair tomorrow, when I finally see my groom." Lothiriel grinned, and Freda smiled happily, taking her hand and leading her from her room, toward the Great Hall.  
  
Only the women were present there, Eowyn and Deliann and Lindenna, and various ladies of Rohan and Dol Amroth and Gondor. The only man present was little Adrehil, on his mother's lap.  
"The men all take dinner with Eomer in the stables, which are a Mead Hall in their own right." Eowyn informed Lothiriel with a grin, "And if I know my brother, he is taking a break from moping at not seeing you to play some childish trick on his brother in law."  
  
Lothiriel sat among them, taking her cousin's son on her lap as she ate, only half aware of the conversation around her. Her eyes were taking in Meduseld, taking in the banners and tapestries and golden knotting in the sturdy walls and floors. Taking in the Kingly throne, and the banners behind it. Her heart gave a jump to see the Banner of The Shared Sword there, that had been made in Minas Tirith after word of her deeds had been made known, along with her betrothal to the Rohirrim King. Hanging now in his Hall...her new home. She was glad, at the same time she was all nerves and unsettled thoughts and...  
  
"Your hands are shaking." Deliann murmured in her ear, with a small smile. Lothiriel looked at her hands...she was right. She passed Adrehil to his grandmother with a small blush.  
"I was just thinking..." She gulped. "It barely entered my thoughts when I left, that I would not ever come back to Dol Amroth as if it were my home."  
"Oh Lothiriel!" Deliann reach to hug her tightly with one arm. "I understand, and I will miss you! But you have done well by Dol Amroth for sure, and look around you..." Deliann grinned. "What a home to call your own from now on."  
  
Lothiriel looked up to the golden roof above, smiling softly again. She imagined her father sitting where she did now, listening to his own father and Eomund and Theoden speak together..."Yes." She nodded. "I do not think I will be so very homesick." She grinned. "Not with the sea right outside."  
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Dawn of Midsummer came clear and bright over Rohan, and Lothiriel was up to greet it. She stood for a while, in the small room for guests that had been hers, watching the sky grow brighter and brighter as the sun came closer to rising. Her last morning as a maiden from Dol Amroth, her last waking alone. She remembered a night two years before, which now did not seem so very long ago. When she had sat on the pale sandy dunes before the Seaside Halls, Edemer with an arm around her, as she bemoaned her lack of suitors. The night had been so beautiful, the stars low in the sky, lanterns casting an ethereal glow behind them. And he had told her all would be well, that she would find love true.  
  
"You were right, big brother." She whispered to the dawn, smiling. "How I wish you were here to see...but then, you do see me, I know this. And you're probably having a good laugh at how nervous I am, as is your way."  
  
Then Eowyn was there, to help her with a beautiful white gown, made with Lothiriel's own hands over the year she'd been engaged. As promised, Freda brushed out her long hair, and Eowyn twisted flowers through it to crown her head, and with them a filmy, almost liquid-looking veil that flowed behind her. "A gift." Eowyn explained, "From Queen Arwen, she made it herself."  
"I thought it looked quite Elvish." Lothiriel grinned, looking behind her to play with the delicate thing.  
"And this..." Eowyn went on, pressing something into her hand, "Is a gift from myself."  
Lothiriel looked, to see what looked like a silver necklace, worked in intricate yet delicate knots, and set with three star-like flowers. "It's mithril." Eowyn told her, and Lothiriel gasped. "In true Dwarven fashion, Gimli told me on my wedding day that anything I required of The Dwarves, he would see to granting. I asked him to make me a Queenly gift to give my brother's bride."  
  
Overcome, Lothiriel reached out to embrace her. "I thank you, sister." She managed, and gave the necklace to a dazzled Freda to clasp about her neck. The little girl did so, and the fair jewels looked right at home on the future Queen's graceful neck. Eowyn stepped back to look at her.  
  
"You look beautiful." She breathed, then took up her hand. "Well, I guess now we go to the Hall!"  
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Horns played outside of Meduseld, as Lothiriel of Dol Amroth stood, waiting to walk through the Hall to where she would be wed, before the steps that led to the throne. She looked up, as two little girls from Dol Amroth and two from Rohan threw flowers in the path she would walk between the hosts of guests who stood watching. For the first time in almost a year, she saw Eomer, gazing at her as if caught up in a dream. He looked grand and handsome, in his kingly armor and finest cape and boots and golden crown. Once he'd adjusted to the ethereal being she'd seemed to become, all in white and gossamer and summer flowers and a sword at her hip, he smiled at her in that familiar, open, loving way she'd fallen for. Her nerves left her for good then, and she smiled back, as Imrahil took her arm and led her to her bridegroom.  
  
Imrahil brought her to face Eomer, still holding her arm, and the two to be wed gazed at each other with a smile. Eowyn stood by Lothiriel, and Faramir by Eomer. And then came the Priestess of Rohan, standing before the throne, her graying golden hair crowned with flowering thistle branches.  
  
"Who comes here, to be given to our King in ceremony?" She spoke, smiling at Imrahil. "And who brings her?"  
"Lothiriel of Dol Amroth comes here, daughter of Eodier and Lethemine." Imrahil replied, "I, Prince of Dol Amroth and her Uncle, present her to this King, and to his country."  
"It is well." The Priestess bowed her head, and Imrahil turned, to kiss his niece's cheek. She smiled at him, squeezing his hand, before he stepped back, to stand by his wife, and the family of his son. Lothiriel turned, to face Eomer, who took her hand in his, smiling at her, before they both looked up to the Priestess.  
  
"Do you two come before this host, and the hosts of heaven, to pledge to each other love true and steadfast, unbreaking and unwavering?" She asked.  
"We do." They said in unison. The Priestess nodded.  
"Then you will now exchange swords, one to another."  
  
With that, Eomer took from his scabbard the ancestral blade of Rohan. It was not the one passed from king to king, no, it was far older, far larger, passed along from the days of Eorl. He held it aloft for a moment, for the people to see it's faded golden hilt, it's blade marked with stars. And then he handed it to Lothiriel, their hands holding it together between them. "I give you this sword," He spoke, "to save for our sons..." He smirked, "And daughters to have and to use, and for you to guard the Hearth of our Home."  
  
Lothiriel smiled, knowing he had added 'daughters' just for her, who was known for her riding at the Black Gate. She passed the mighty sword carefully to Eowyn, who set it aside. Then Lothiriel drew the sword at her own side, which was indeed the Sword of The Kings of Rohan, that had been Theoden's, then Eomer's. She had asked that it be given to her that morning, for this purpose, knowing Eomer would think it put away safely during his wedding. She handed it to Eomer, and again they held it between them.  
"To keep us safe, you too must bear a blade." She spoke, "With this sword keep safe our Children, our Country and our People."  
  
Eomer smiled, with tears threatening to come...the swords used in the ceremony were almost always symbolic, never ones that the wedded pair actually bore. That she had gone through the trouble to use his own...it touched him deeply. He slipped the sword into his scabbard.  
  
The Priestess smiled at them. "Now, kneel before each other." They did so, and Eowyn took her cue, walking over from Lothiriel's side to stand by Eomer. She took up his hands, and placed them in Lothiriel's, palms up.  
  
"These are the hands, young and strong and vibrant with love, that are holding yours on your wedding day." Eowyn spoke, smiling. "As he promises to love you all the days of his life. These are the hands, though they look large and worn with work, that will hold your first child with tender care. These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you throughout the years, for a lifetime of happiness. These are the hands that will always be there to wipe tears from your eyes, tears of sorrow, tears of joy. These are the hands that will comfort you in times of illness, and hold you when fear or griefs wrack your mind. These are the hands that will gently lift your face to look into his eyes; eyes that are completely filled with love for you."  
  
Lothiriel broke away from the gaze of Eomer for a moment, as he did, to smile at Eowyn in thanks. And then Faramir came forward, glancing down at Lothiriel for a moment as he took up her hands. They spoke without words...he knew he was here to do the job that was rightly her brother's...but she was most glad he was here. He smiled, and then presented her hands, palms up, to Eomer.  
  
"These are the hands, smooth, young and carefree, that are holding yours on your wedding day." He said, and Eowyn was proud at how well he'd memorized it. "As she pledges her love and commitment to you all the days of her life. These are the hands that will hold each of your children with tender care, soothing them through illnesses and hurts, encouraging them on their way, and knowing when it is time to let them go. These are the hands that will soothe your own self, after you have ridden hard on long days. These are the hands that will embrace you as you struggle through difficult times, they are the hands that will comfort you when you are sick, console you when you are grieving. These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you throughout the years, for a lifetime of happiness. These are the hands that will hold you in joy and excitement and hope. These are the hands that will support you in your way, that your every dream together will be realized."  
  
Faramir stepped away, and the bride and groom clasped hands tightly, repeating every word and thought with their eyes, fixed on each other.  
  
"Now rise." The Priestess said, smiling, lifting her hands in an arch. "And exchange rings and vow together."  
  
Lothiriel turned to Eowyn, who handed her the golden-knotted ring that had been made in Dol Amroth for this day. She turned to her groom, smiling, and placed it on his finger.  
  
"By seed and root, by bud and stem, by leaf and flower and fruit, by sword and stone, by the ancient waves and the steadfast grasses, by life and by love, I take thee to my hand, my heart and my spirit, at the setting of the sun and the rising of the stars." She spoke the words clearly, having branded them upon her heart, and Eomer saw this in her eyes. "Nor shall death part us, for in the ripeness of time we shall meet, and know, and remember, and love again. Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone, I here, thou there, yet both as one."  
  
Eomer then took the silver ring from Faramir, that had been made for Lothiriel in Rohan, and placed it on her finger.  
  
"By seed and root, by bud and stem, by leaf and flower and fruit, by sword and stone, by the ancient waves and the steadfast grasses, by life and by love, I take thee to my hand, my heart and my spirit, at the setting of the sun and the rising of the stars. Nor shall death part us, for in the ripeness of time we shall meet, and know, and remember, and love again. Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone, I here, thou there, yet both as one." He took her newly ringed hand, and brought it to his lips briefly, before they turned back to the Priestess, who was simply beaming.  
  
"Now yet, there is one more thing we must do, as this be the Wedding Day of our King." And with that, those who watched and listen from outside gave a cheer. The Priestess turned to the throne, picking up a delicate yet strong and well-made crown, knotted in the Rohirrim way.  
  
"Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, in the binding of yourself to Our King, do you vow to be Our Land's Queen, to hold it's people and it's interests close to your heart, as you keep your husband, for all of your days?"  
"I do." Lothiriel replied clearly and with strength, for she felt those two words with all of her heart. The Priestess bowed, speaking with barely contained joy.  
"Then by the earth and by your heart and by the throne, I crown you Queen of Rohan, wife to our King. You are as one together." She set the crown upon Lothiriel's dark head with a brilliant smile.  
  
From outside, one of Eomer's soldiers gave a mighty 'whoop'! And all of Meduseld followed in cheering and rejoicing. The Priestess bid them seal their vows with a kiss, but none heard, save they two. Eomer drew his wife to him and kissed her softly, embracing her, as flowers rained down around them.... .  
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All that day the feasting went on, in Meduseld and in every home in Rohan, be it in Edoras or in the plains. All were celebrating the midsummer union of their young King and his lovely bride, who was known by every farmer as a beauty, and every farmer's wife as a heroine.  
  
Lothiriel, upon surveying her guests while she and Eomer sat to evening's feast, realized with a glad cry that the Hobbits Merry and Pippin had come, Merry proudly wearing his old armor of Rohan, Pippin his of Gondor. They brought her gifts of fine cloth and herbs from The Shire, and plenty of tall tales with them, to which she listened with rapt...and amused...attention. She congratulated Merry on his engagement to a Hobbit lass named Estella, and promised to send fine gifts to them both.  
  
And so the merrymaking went on, Imrahil and Deliann holding hands and looking on with contented hearts, as the young danced, Imrahir and Lindenna, Faramir and Eowyn, Eomer and Lothiriel. Imrahil was reminded of another dark-haired young lass, who married a golden haired Rohirrim, in not quite so grand a fashion, but with as much joy as he saw on his niece's face.  
  
After a time, when the stars had been long in the sky, Lothiriel stepped away from the dancing and feasting and music, to stand in the cool air outside of The Golden Hall. She watched the grasses under the moonlight, and she smiled, shutting her eyes. A pair of strong arms wound around her waist then, long blond hair mingling with her dark.  
  
"What are you thinking of, my bride?" Eomer asked in a murmur, and she sighed, shutting her eyes to the feel of his embrace.  
"I was just thinking...." She told him wistfully, "Of what my father would say to me now."  
"I think he would be most proud." Her husband replied, "To see you happy, and helping to lead his people."  
"Alongside the son of his father's friend." Lothiriel smiled. "It seems, my love, that all things have worked to a good end indeed."  
"Yes?" Eomer pulled back, turning to take both her hands, to look into her eyes. She nodded.  
"I may be the last of my family..." She said seriously. "But now, even if I had never loved you first, I would be under the banner of your Friend." She looked at their linked hands. "So even as you are my one love, I am loyal friend to you, by Oath of my father and grandfather."  
"And your brother." Eomer nodded, smiling softly. "It seems all does work to a good end, my Lothy." He drew her to him then, and they were thus for a few moments together, embraced, King and Queen.  
  
"Now..." Eomer spoke again after a time, and Lothiriel grinned at his tone. "How about we give this fine day a good end as well?"  
"How very ungentlemanly." Lothiriel pretended to scoff, but could not keep the flush from her face. Eomer laughed, but reached down to kiss her, gentle yet lingering, then taking her hand in his he led her inside, passed the Hall full of merrymakers to their chambers.  
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The wind was strong that day. A little colder then usual as well, but the Queen of Rohan did not mind. She just stubbornly pushed her dark hair out of her face, wandering about in the melting snow, trying to find what flowers had bravely pushed forth their petals. She found enough for a handful, and made her way along the overgrown mountain path to the ruin of long-decayed thatch and tumbled wood that had once been a sturdy, warm farmhouse.  
  
Behind it there was still, standing strong, a stone marker with two intertwined thistle flowers carved upon it. But now it was flanked by two small statues carved in Dol Amroth, one of a woman with outstretched hands, one of a man with a beard and sword. Lothiriel set the flowers between them, kneeling carefully before the marker.  
  
"Happy Birthday, Mother." She whispered. "I hope these flowers find you well. I pray that Edemer is well with you, as is Da." She smiled. "You would be happy to see me, Mama...as I know you must be. I am doing well in Edoras, I love its people and they support me well. Eomer and I are happy together, as I have such fond memories of you and Da being, few thought they are." She then gulped, looking down. "Sometimes, I still am filled with sadness, that neither you, nor Da, nor Edemer are here with me...but I am comforted by my husband, and by my memories of you." She managed to smile then, "Tell Edemer that he was right...that I found love true. Tell father that I understand what it is to love something enough to fight for it." Her smile became strong again, though tears slipped from her eyes. "And I give you all the news, that I am now three months with child." She laughed, "Eomer thought I was out of my wits to try to ride here, but I had to tell you..." Lothiriel reached out and touched the thistles. "I feel in my heart that you are proud of me...pray keep Da and Edemer well, Mama." She rose. "Goodbye..." She whispered, and turned to go.  
  
She walked up the mountain path, holding her long green cloak around her tightly. Eomer was waiting for her, and she smiled up at him, as he gave her a hand up onto his horse, to ride before him. They turned, to ride back down the steep path, to where their escort waited at the foot of the mountain. Lothiriel looked back one more time, at the farm she had left so long ago...and then back down to the path, that had taken her to so many places, only to bring her back to Rohan.  
  
One arm tight around her, Eomer whispered to her softly. "I love you, my Lothy."  
Lothiriel smiled, shutting her eyes, content as they rode back to their home. "And I you."  
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The End  
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Thank you sooo much to everyone for indulging me! hehehe, I had such fun rereading this, grooming it, etc. Thank you for the reviews, compliments and comments, and worry not! For the writer's block has passed, and there will be a new chapter of White Hawk up this week, lol.  
Now, I'm gonna go to bed, cause it's freakin' cold in here XD  
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